March of the Black Queen
by Lord Mendasuit
Summary: Harry Black is a lot of things. Powerful. Skilled. Rich. All those and many more. One thing Harry is not, however, is 'The Boy Who Lived'. In fact, Harry is not even a boy to begin with. Shrouded in mystery and tragedy, the Black Queen rises, leaving nothing but sorrow in her wake.
1. Painting a Black Portrait

**March of the Black Queen  
**

**Year One, Part One: Painting a Black Portrait  
**

* * *

Summary: Everyone has to start somewhere, and no matter how fortuituous the start, a turbulent year awaits Hogwarts. Cowardly celebrities, suicidal heiresses and homicidal trolls promise that much, at least.

* * *

"Black, Harriet," spoke McGonagall.

Nobody batted an eyelash when a rather thin and short girl with long, messy, yet immaculate, black hair strode confidently to the three legged stool in the middle of the Great Hall. Brilliant emerald green eyes trailed across the four tables as for a good six minutes her mind warred with the Sorting Hat, until at last it opened the flap that served as its mouth and yelled a big "SLYTHERIN!", much to the surprise of no one who had heard her surname.

Under the cheer of her new housemates, she smiled to herself and adjusted her newly recolored robes.

* * *

"This is a most surprising development," Severus Snape, potions master unequaled and prodigious fighter, as well as sufferer from chronically greasy hair, spoke as he looked directly into Albus Dumbledore's eyes. He felt the brush of Dumbledore's reflexive legilimency probe, and sent disturbing thoughts of the more disgusting reactions between certain ingredients as a chastisement. The old headmaster chuckled at the similarly reflexive defense that was blocked by his own.

"Is it, really?" Albus asked, raising a white and fluffy eyebrow.

"Oh, yes," said the Potions Master, taking a seat in front of the Headmaster's desk, seemingly relaxed. "One would think that with her family's history, Slytherin would be the last place she'd be in."

"I believe you base your assumptions based on her parents," Albus spoke, shaking his head. "That girl could be no more distant from her parents' influence than you wish she be kept from yours," the old man spoke, absent mindedly ignoring the wince as the cheap shot settled. "Regardless, there is one another I wish to hear your opinion on."

"The Longbottom boy?" Severus asked, distaste clear in his voice. "Truly pathetic in his brewing and quivering under pressure. Why, I believe the slightest push would make him crash into pieces, which will also happen given enough time. I do not know what your game is, Albus, but unless you have that boy trained so that he's better able to handle the pressure, your Boy Who Lived will fall."

"Thank you, Severus, that would be all," spoke the Headmaster, nodding.

Some would think that the overly negative review would be biased and inappropriate, but Albus knew to distill the barely held contempt Severus had for those inferior to himself to see the truth of his statements. Severus had been a genius in his youth, and that had made him insufferable. A crippling lack of social skills combined with his background had made him rather shy and withdrawn, which made him a favorite target of a gang of bullies that had shared his school years. This year, with the manifestation of all the demons that still haunted Severus in his own house, would prove to be very interesting for the sour man.

Dumbledore smiled. It hurt, himself and others, to do this to children so young... but fire and pressure were required if one was to forge and temper a powerful weapon, and unfortunately for young Neville, saving the world from Voldemort was more important than any single boy.

* * *

Harriet Black was not well liked in Slytherin, due to her status as a Half Blood, but she was not disliked, due mostly to her name.

The Black family carried immeasurable weight, and she was truly legitimate as the current heiress, and most likely, Lady once she came of age. Therefore, despite racism, people were unfailingly polite to her. Well, all except her head of house, who had singled her out and decided to make her life hell. She knew exactly why. Her father had informed her of the bad blood the Black family and the Snape/Prince family had between them, mostly due to his own, and his friends', actions. Harriet found Severus Snape to be a petty and childish man, but she could not fault his ability.

As such, she had resolved to publicly offer him her sincerest apologies, that were as insincere as they came. Publicly acknowledging that the Black house had been in the wrong during their encounters was a risky gamble. It could be interpreted as a sign of weakness, as a sign that the Heiress was not strong enough to lead her house, but Harriet knew that the pay off would be much too great to ignore.

Severus Snape would be forced to accept, as doing anything less than that would be seen as an insult to the House of Black, and that would destroy Snape's standing with many, many families, as most were unaware of how truly heated the feud had become during the seven years Harriet's family and Snape had shared Hogwarts. But that would not be coming until she had controlled the circumstances so that the biggest amount of people could see it. Until then, she'd endure in silence and hope to impress upon the man that she was not her father.

Given that he'd responded to her dedication in potions by chastising her for showing off, this would be a difficult and slow process.

Regardless, if she could convince him to treat her like a human being without having to force his hand into doing so, then all the better.

As of now, however, her main concern was attaining control of her dormmates. She shared her dorm room with Daphne Greengrass, and next to hers was Milicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson's room. Two other girls were to the other side of Bulstrode and Parkinson, being Tracey Davis and Lilith Moon.

It had taken Harry roughly a week to fully assess the females in her year, but she was certain she had read them as well as could be expected. Daphne Greengrass was apathetic to most things, the reasons of why such a thing happened could vary, and Harry truly had no patience for irrelevant data. Daphne might be apathetic, but there was one thing that she was clearly raised to covet, and that was power. Calm, cold and calculating by nature, she'd certainly be an asset if Harry could convince her to bow to her will.

And Harry knew she could do that much, at the very least, given time. It would be easy to start their 'friendship' as a business venture.

Daphne would be perfect as a little puppet ruler for Slytherin. Pretty, certainly gearing up to become beautiful, intelligent and cultured... Not intelligent enough to stage a take over by herself, which was always a plus, yet enough to act on her own effectively if necessary. She just lacked the 'charm and charisma' parts involved in controlling people. The significant wealth and influence of the Black family also gave Harry a considerable edge in her dealings that the Greengrass family just couldn't match.

Daphne would see their partnership as beneficial, at first, and she'd think herself on top. Harry would let her believe that, convince her she was the real power, all the while tugging on her strings and forcing her to dance to the Black Family's tune.

Pansy Parkinson was a no go for the moment. She was canny and clever, but her temper was easy to provoke, and she would be relatively easy to neutralize as a player. Obtaining her allegiance would be impossible, for the time being, as her family had very tight ties to the Malfoys. It wouldn't be a surprise if they had actually promised her hand in marriage to Draco.

Bulstrode would be laughably easy to sway. Resembling a troll in all but smell (And even that was a near miss at times), she was almost certain to be a target for bullies all around. A simple hand extended in friendship would earn her loyalty in a flash. Being her 'first' friend would give her incredible influence over the ugly duckling, and that was not to be ignored.

Bullied children were such a valuable resource, really. Few noticed their worth, and even fewer were willing to go through the trouble that would result in attempting to tap into their potential.

Lilith Moon would be similarly easy to sway, if not even more pathetically easy than Bulstrode. While Lilith was a reasonably cute little girl and of above average intellect, she came from a family that was suffering, heavily, from the effects of inbreeding. Magic kept the most obvious problems of it, notably physical deformations, at bay, but her magic power suffered in return, leaving her to be quite possibly the weakest student in the school, from her own admission barely above a standard squib (just about enough to use magic, in fact). She was highly undesirable as a marriage partner, as her family held no influence, little wealth and was relatively young on top of that.

Even Bulstrode was more desirable, due to the old name that she carried, to the average pureblood.

Fortunately for poor Lilith, Harry saw her value, and knew how to bring out her potential. Indeed, Harry thought that despite it all, she had gotten quite lucky with her dormmates. She had expected having a harder time.

Tracey Davis was a halfblood, and unlike Harry, she did not have the backing of a powerful surname behind her. Alone in a den of snakes, she'd cling to the first to offer her a hand in support. Harry had already extended hers, and though Tracey had a pre existing friendship with Greengrass, the apathetic girl probably hadn't been a very good friend, or even good company in general. No, it was quite likely that Harry would be the first 'real' friend Tracey made, instead of a playmate arranged for her by her mother, who desperately sought to rejoin society after her youthful indiscretions got her expulsed from it.

One would wonder how Harry could have gleaned so much from Tracey's life.

Well, the girl HAD been desperate for a friend to confess her life's trouble to, and Harry happened to be a halfblood coming from a 'tragic' family life, someone who could and would understand her. Harry would have made a remark about her being easy to sway to her side, if she hadn't managed to gain Tracey's loyalty entirely by accident.

The one who would give her the most trouble was Greengrass, but even that could be resolved with enough time. At the end of her first week of classes, she laid her head on her pillow and smiled at the ceiling. It would be a fruitful year, and if she played her cards right, she might extend her hand into the male side of her year. It was too bad the boys clearly still thought girls had cooties or some such nonsense, else she would have already reached out to make an assesment of the males that surrounded her. For the time being, she ignored the upper years and the males entirely.

There would be time enough to dwell on that, once she positioned Greengrass to take over Slytherin's metaphorical throne. Well, the first years' throne, at any rate, but she'd work on putting Daphne on the top of the ladder eventaully.

it would be a long ride, filled with dangers and potential problems, but Harry trusted herself and refused to back down, even at the daunting road laid before her.

As sleep came to claim her, Harry relaxed. "Soon..." she muttered, growing weaker by the second and finally succumbing to sleep.

* * *

Neville Longbottom did not know what to think of his classmates. Oh, his dormmates were cool enough, he supposed, even if they bordered on being fans of his, something that still disturbed him greatly. He didn't want to disappoint anyone, but he knew that he would. He knew that the first person he'd disappointed had been his grandmother, who'd been so happy that he would give honor to the family... but it had been so hard. His accidental magic had been weak, and it hadn't come often. Not as often as it should have, for one who had somehow defeated the Dark Lord.

He couldn't even pronounce the man's name without stuttering! How was he supposed to be a symbol of hope like that?

But at the moment, it didn't matter, because he was in his element. The greenhouses in Hogwarts were nothing like the ones back at his home. There, they hadn't ever been cared for by a green-thumbed hand the way his was. These greenhouses had generations upon generations of ambient magic feeding into them and had been cared for by one of the most prominent herbology masters for decades now. Neville still wanted to set the hat on fire for putting him on Gryffindor. McGonagall was strict and unforgiving, as well as the Transfigurations teacher. Neville would've been much more comfortable with the kind and forgiving Sprout who taught Herbology.

Unfortunately, he was in Gryffindor, and he didn't know what to think of them.

The girls were beyond his understanding. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil kept talking all the damn time so fast and about so many things following their conversation was an exercise in futility, while Granger and Dunbar were both unapproachable and fairly annoying, though for different reasons. Granger was an annoying Know-It-All with a stick lodged up her ass and a stickler for the rules to boot, while Dunbar was just quiet and exceedingly sarcastic. Neither had friends as a result of their personalities.

In contrast, the boys were fairly easy to understand and get along with. Ron had been his friend since the time they played a few games of Wizarding Chess, Finnegan and Thomas had been friendly from the get go and had loved seeing him get wrecked by a Ron who wasn't even trying, and the fact that Neville himself wasn't a particularly unpleasant individual wound up getting him endeared to the two.

Everyone else was much of a non entity, as Neville hadn't looked very far beyond his house, except for the impressively annoying Draco Malfoy, who had managed to be a consistent annoyance since the first day of classes.

There was another student in Slytherin Neville had taken notice of, and it was perhaps the most mystifying person in the entire school.

'Miss Black' had almost become synonymous with 'Mistery', given how little people knew about her. Neville's grandmother had given him briefings on notable classmates he would have, in an effort to keep her grandson from ruining potential and pre existing alliances or friendships, and she had very little information on Black. She had been the last Lord Black's child, though she was suspected to be a bastard and was almost confirmed to be a halfblood, which was odd in her family. Given that the last Lord Black had been known to be a Blood Traitor, it was a distinct possibility. Regardless, she was a Black and she was the current Lady.

Augusta Longbottom had urged Neville to reach out to her, to try to gain her hand in friendship, though if Ron was to be believed she was not to be trusted, as she was a slimy snake. It was perhaps for the best, given that she gave Neville the creeps. It wasn't anything she had done, in particular, but rather her presence. It just left Neville feeling weird and taken aback. It was as if she held everyone in contempt, but at the same time didn't, since she had been unfailingly polite and almost nice and friendly.

Even to Snape, when the man had obviously rounded on her to try to humilliate her in public. She had remained perfectly calm and answered Snape's questions correctly, giving Neville a strange sort of admiration. The Potions teacher was absolutely terrifying to him, and he hadn't even had the man's attention focused on him at all, as he had been busy hovering over Black and attempting to intimidate her into making a few mistakes. It was strange, given the older years' stories of Snape's incredible bias against Gryffindor. Seems there was someone he hated more than the entire house, and that person had landed in his own House.

Neville sort of admired her for how ridiculously tough she was. Unflappable so far and always bearing a small smile, she seemed like the very epitome of what Neville wanted to be. He wanted to be that cool person who everyone looked up to...

... and yet there was something in his gut that churned every time he looked at her. Something that was somewhere between recognition, which made her feel strangely familiar, and revulsion, which made him wish to be as far away from her as he could be.

Nobody else could see it. Not Ron, not Dean, not Seamus. Ron hated her on principle, Dean thought she was kinda cool, even if she resembled a robot (whatever that was) and Seamus didn't have an opinion of her as he hadn't paid much attention to Slytherin.

Ultimately, he found he'd have to wait until Black revealed her own hand. Until then, he would wait and see.

* * *

Daphne Greengrass thought her first month at Hogwarts was a success, all things considered.

She had gained two allies. Well, one she already had before, and the other had come after associating with her first, but her 'friendship' with Tracey had never been too close and for a minute she'd feared losing the girl as an ally to Black. It seemed, however, that Black had no desire to lead, as she had approached Daphne to do so instead.

This was just convenient, she supposed, as she was going to approach Black to gain her allegiance.

In their year, Daphne considered only herself, Black and Malfoy capable of leading. Nott and Zabini were possible candidates, of course, but only if everyone else failed to step up to the plate. Slytherin's internal hierarchy was based on your family's prestige, and as of now, Black was the most prestigious student in the school, much as her house had declined in its later years. She held too much wealth, too many favors were owed to her family and when she obtained control of her family in its entirety, several important families would be at her mercy due to long standing contracts.

Daphne held no illusions that the Black Heiress could overthrow her at any point, and thus believed it in her best interests to keep her on Daphne's side. She seemed content with just being a follower, for the time being, but Daphne paid her attention and tried to make sure she didn't grow bored, restless or annoyed. Any of the three could break their tenuous alliance and spell doom for Daphne's endeavours to run Hogwarts from behind the scenes.

She just couldn't let Malfoy run Slytherin. The pale boy was just too influential not to manage it eventually, without proper competition. On her lonesome, Daphne would not have stood a chance against Draco, if only because their parents' dynamics had put Draco in an advantageous position. Lucius and Abraxas Malfoy had both been too good at what they did, and they had stablished their dominion too strongly for her to change it now...

Unless she had help from someone who held plenty of influence. From someone whose support was a massive boon to anyone in the school.

Black was just the person necessary to break the Malfoys' hold on Slytherin, and Daphne knew she could do this. Draco was not his father or grandfather. He had been spoiled. Draco had the good looks and the influence, but he had neither charm nor charisma. Not yet. He was too much of a spoiled brat, too used to getting his way without proest, to understand how manipulation worked when his whining and begging wouldn't get him what he wanted. Daphne had a brief window of opportunity, perhaps a year, and Black's support to gain enough of a hold on Slytherin that Draco couldn't wrestle it from her once he pulled his head out of his ass.

Black had suggested they work first on swaying the rest of their year, and had even gone ahead and brought Bulstrode and Moon into the fold, and Daphne was impressed. It had been a deliciously simple scheme. After two weeks without friends, both of them had been aching for anyone to reach out and offer them a hand. And Black had done so, most likely with ulterior motives, but she had still offered them a hand in friendship. Tracey had protested, Daphne had been intrigued, and Parkinson had made fun of Moon's health as well as Bulstrode's looks. She had culminated by insulting Black, calling her desperate for associating with such people.

Black had let her run her mouth, only offering the pug nosed girl a calm and somewhat amused smile, before she had merely laughed a little, as if finding the whole thing hilarious. The first year girls had been confused at that, as laughing at insults to oneself was an alien concept in Slytherin. "Lilith is a perfectly nice girl, and none of her health problems are her fault, or contagious," Harry had countered, smiling as she put a hand on the pale and frail looking Moon girl's shoulder, almost embracing her for a second before turning towards Bulstrode and doing the same with her other arm, though Bulstrode's shoulders were much higher up. "And Millie being tall is just convenient. I've always found being short to be a hindrance. Why would I not want a friend who can reach the higher shelves? As for being ugly... I am not looking to date her, Miss Parkinson, I am merely looking for friendship. What she looks like on the outside could not be less important to me, I assure you."

Daphne had to commend Black, and hope that the girl's laziness and pleasant relaxed disposition would continue. The Greengrass Heiress knew that her power started and ended on Black's hand, and that it would be best to remain in her good graces. Until then, she'd try her hardest to stablish her hold over Slytherin, trying to depend as little as possible on Black's influence behind her. Indeed, it would be best if she used it only as a trump card in case of a situation going the worst way possible.

She also tried to ignore the strange urge she had to see what it would be like if Black flipped out and went totally nuts. A girl that calm and collected, even more than Daphne herself, would most likely explode in spectacular fashion.

* * *

"Maybe it isn't such a good idea," McGonagall admitted. "I know that we need to boost the Longbottom boy's courage, but couldn't we do so in a safer manner? Couldn't we do so in a way that wouldn't put his life at risk or his person in range of Voldemort?"

Albus Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid it's necessary. Conflict brings out the best in us, makes us as great as we can be. True danger will temper him, give him an edge none else have. It is our experiences that make us, Minerva, and he needs to experience danger and risk if he is to be a hero. I take no more pleasure in this than you, I assure you, but I need a successor, and it has to be him. The world needs hope, it needs a hero it can look up to and admire. I won't live forever, and I will need a replacement, eventually. This poor boy may suffer today, but tomorrow, he will understand."

McGonagall sighed, slumping in her chair. "Even so, Albus... I worry for him. I wish we could give him the unconditional support he was supposed to have."

"I'm afraid Miss Black is a lost cause. I fear my own mistakes concerning her might make her tend to hate me on principle," spoke the headmaster, shaking his head. "I never could have guessed that her only remaining blood would be so despicable. I still remembered Petunia as a bright little girl begging me to let her come to Hogwarts..."

McGonagall shook her head. "We didn't have time to check on her before then. Things were hectic and we had to calm a population that was desperate for their heroes to come forward. We did the best we could, Albus."

The old man shook his head. "You did the best you could, Minerva. I could have done more. I could have read his mind when I dropped her off. I could have seen the prejudice and hatred in his heart. I could have done so much more... but I held to my principles. I respected their privacy and their wishes. When Petunia told me she'd take her niece so long as we didn't interfer with her ever again... I accepted. I was just glad to be rid of a problem, at the time. There was so much to do... I was tired and cranky, and I made a great mistake that costed us greatly. She could have been such a pillar of the light, like her parents, and I ruined it for her and us."

"Mistakes were made," McGonagall admitted, shaking her head. "But I wouldn't go as far as to say she is a lost cause. I have seen that girl. She is no Tom, I assure you. She might be as charming and charismatic as Tom was, as well as just as intelligent, but looking back, there was always an air of barely held in check contempt about him. He was better than everyone else at everything, and he knew it. He had an air of superiority that invoked fear and respect, but also hatred. Miss Black... Her smiles seem much more genuine, by comparison."

Albus brightened considerably. "You know something I don't," he spoke, curiosity clear in his tone.

"I spoke with Filius about her performance in his class, and she is just as bright there as he is in mine. I once asked for her and Miss Granger, whom I believe I have already spoken to you about, to give me a hand in class. Like I said, I believe her smiles to be genuine. I believe she truly enjoys helping others. As a matter of fact, she reminds me of someone else's enthusiasm for teaching..."

The old man blushed slightly, but his smile was wide and full of joy. "There might be hope for her yet. Perhaps I judged her too hastily and too harshly. We shall see what becomes of her... Perhaps we could instigate a friendship between herself and Neville? It would do the both of them good, I believe."

McGonagall shook her head. "I recommend against forcing it. I would say to allow circumstances in which that becomes a possibility."

"Of course, dear. Forcing two people together without a potion to stop them from killing each other is never a good idea," he said with a small nostalgic smile. "But I believe this year should present plenty of circumstances to forge their friendship in flames. Let's just hope for the best... Meanwhile, I shall endeavour to prepare for the worst," Dumbledore spoke.

As if to end their conversation, a burst of flame exploded just above the golden perch that sat on Dumbledore's desk, and from the conflagration jumped a gold and red bird that was clearly the headmaster's prized Phoenix, Fawkes.

"Well hello there, Fawkes. Good haul, I hope?"

McGonagall rolled her eyes. Fawkes might be a phoenix and therefore more intelligent than your average bird... but he was still a god damned bird. "I'll be going. I have a class to teach and the NEWTs are too important to neglect in this day and age."

Dumbledore nodded, and McGonagall dismissed herself when she heard Dumbledore start to argue with his Phoenix companion.

* * *

Hermione Granger had not enjoyed her stay at Hogwarts, so far. The teachers were mostly acceptable, except for the horrid Snape, who was challenging her unfaltering trust in authority. Even so, she guessed he was just hard on them so they learned about the dangers of Potions class. She hoped, more like. Regardless of his intentions, he was clearly a master of his art, even if he was a less than profficient teacher. She had no friends, so far, but that was to be expected. Even amongst wizards she was seen as a know it all bookworm, just for wanting to help them!

She had been ecstatic when McGonagall had assigned her to help her peers in class if she was done with the day's spell. In charms, a similar thing happened with Flitwick. Even if the students had looked at her like she was some sort of cockroach, she knew she was better than them at magic. She, a Muggleborn, was better than purebloods, and it filled her with pride to offset the anger and hurt that constricted her chest whenever she thought about the fact that she had no friends whatsoever.

Halloween came, and she had been awed by the Great Hall's decorations, craning her look to look around so much that it hurt the entire meal, but she didn't care. Even if she had to sit basically alone for the holiday, even in her table, all she could do was dwell on the party that she'd had to enjoy on her lonesome. Being distracted as she was, however, made her forget to take very careful note of where she was going and, at some point, she realized she was lost in the castle. Worried and distressed, she began to walk at a brisk pace, looking for anything or anyone that could give her directions.

Unfortunately, she did find someone who could, under normal circumstances, have given her directions. Problem is, circumstances weren't normal. Hermione was vaguely aware of Harriet Black, and her reputation in the school. She knew the girl was seen as nice, kind and helpful, even if Hermione feared that she wouldn't help due to her status as a muggleborn and the fact Black was in Slytherin, a house notorious for housing bigots. That concern flew out of Hermione's mind when she came across Black and felt the stench of blood reach her nose. Guided by her sense of smell, Hermione's eyes snapped to Black's mangled right arm, which looked as if something with rather blunt teeth had gnawed on it for a while. There was also a prominent cut across her face that was still flowing with blood, and the front of her robes was covered in it.

She was also, quite clearly and evidently, exhausted.

"Troll," she stated, dully. "Corpse in bathroom. Need rest," she informed, as she collapsed forwards and face first. Hermione scrambled to catch her and barely managed it. It took a while for her screams for help to reach anyone, and by then Black had already lost a lot of blood, even as the Headmaster teleported them to the nurse's workplace and promptly told Madam Pomfrey to drop everything to tend to Black.

* * *

"That was close. You're lucky the cut on your face was so shallow, otherwise it would've left a nasty scar," said the nurse disapprovingly as she cast a variety of spells at her bedridden patient. "Your arm will recover, as well, and there are potions to minimize and eventually eliminate the scars that would be left on it. Wouldn't have worked on one as big as the one on your face, but like I said, you got lucky."

Black looked somewhat bored at the Nurse's words, though her gaze turned to the headmaster, who stood next to her bed, almost inviting him to quesiton her. It seemed he decided he might as well get it over with. "Pardon my bluntness, miss Black, but... what were you thinking? A fully grown troll like that is something only an adult wizard should have to deal with. Instead of taking care of it yourself, you should have informed your teachers."

"I was capable of dealing with it," stated Harry, blandly. "I killed it, did I not?" she added, seeing the headmaster's incredulous look.

Severus Snape burst through the door of the infirmary, looking as if hell chased him. He was ashen white and looked outright murderous all at once. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING YOU INSANE BRAT!?"

"I was capable of dealing with it," repeated Harry, blinking at her professor.

The Head of Slytherin took a deep breath and mastered himself. "You are just like your father. You sought the glory that would come from handling the Troll yourself, did you not? Answer me!"

"Not at all," she replied, grimacing as her face protested her attempt at smiling for her professor. "I hadn't been feeling well yesterday, so I chose to skip on the feast. Later, I had to head to the bathroom for obvious purposes, and then the Troll walked in, club swinging," she spoke, shrugging slightly. "It tried to attack me, but I attacked it with a spell my father taught me first. I believe it was one you invented, professor, since my father did mention you a lot when he said I was only to use it in absolute emergencies."

"Sectumsempra," Snape said, sounding deeply disturbed. "That... that no good, imbecillic mutt taught a child one of the most dangerous spells I have created!? I knew he had no brains to speak of, but this is just ludicrous! And of course, it had to be THAT spell of all things..."

"Now, Severus, it's clear that he was right in teaching it to her, as it saved her life. Though I wonder how he managed to learn it, as you weren't one to share."

Snape rolled his eyes. "We both know where he learned it," replied the sour looking man.

"How did you get wounded, then?" asked Dumbledore, concern clear in his voice.

"When I decapitated the Troll, it had been swinging its club. It struck several pieces of bathroom furniture and the debris struck me in turn. I tried to doge but..."

Dumbledore held a hand up to halt her tale, as it was clear she was uncomfortable reliving it. He imagined she had tried her best to dodge and just hadn't been able to avoid all the porcelain that had shredded her arm and caused that cut on her cheek. "Regardless, I cannot fault you for defending yourself in a moment of panic, even if the force you used was excessive," Dumbledore spoke. "Therefore, there will be no punishment, as there would have been had you gone looking for the troll," said in clear relief the headmaster. "As a matter of fact... twenty points to Slytherin for such a display of magical prowess. Sectumsempra is not an easy spell, and it must have been rather draining, on top of that... But don't let me take any more of your time. I do believe Miss Granger is desperate to confirm your well being. Are you friends, perchance?"

Harry shook her head.

"Well, it's never too late to start a friendship, and I find that events such as these rather change our perspective of people. Now come, Severus, I do believe I have much to speak with you about," Dumbledore spoke, nodding at the nurse, who even now hovered over Black, looking specifically at the bandaged right arm, almost as if she could see how it mended under the white cloth of the bandages.

After the Headmaster and the Head of Slytherin left, Hermione was allowed in, looking worried as a person could be. It took a few seconds for Hermione to start babbling a million words a minute, piling all of her concern and worry on top of Harry as she looked at Hermione, offering her a kind, if strained smile.

Ultimately, what Harry had deciphered had gone along the lines of Hermione having been immensely scared by the image of a grievously wounded person. Harry thanked her for her help, as best as she could, at any rate.

"Are... are you okay?" Hermione asked, her eyes trailing to the red skin where the shallow cut on her cheek had once been. She raised a hand and almost ran a finger through it, but she stopped herself just in time, believing it would've most likely hurt to apply pressure there.

"Yes," spoke Harry, nodding at her. "Don't worry about me. I've had worse pains," she added, smiling brightly at Hermione. "Are you alright? I apologize for forcing you to deal with an image as horrifying as the one I no doubt presented... but I hadn't a choice in the matter."

Hermione shook her head wildly. "I'm glad I could help you," she said, thinking about how the rumors about Black being nice even despite her intimidating presence were totally right. "Anyway, since you can't go to class or write notes even if you do," she said, gesturing towards the bandaged, and immobilized, arm that the nurse had abandoned to check on her potions stock, "I brought you my notes for today's classes..."

It had been just convenient Gryffindor shared a great deal of classes with Slytherin, in this instance.

Hermione screwed her eyes shut as she searched her bag and brought out he notes. She would have to gauge Black's reaction to this. Hermione wanted a friend. She so desperately wanted a friend... and this proved to be a most fortuituous situation. Hermione had saved Black's life, so she would likely feel indebted to her. Hermione didn't truly care if her friend was only her friend out of a sense of duty. That is how desperate she was to have a friend. Just in case, though, she had decided to be as nice as she could be so Black didn't grow annoyed enough with her to discard her even after she had saved the younger girl's life.

"Thank you, Hermione," said Harry, and Hermione felt her heart soar at being referred to by her first name. She was usually 'bookworm' or 'know-it-all', usually referred to as 'Granger' if she was referred to by name at all. Simply being called 'Hermione' by one of her peers without obvious contempt was already something that had Hermione thanking whatever god was responsible for giving her this opportunity. "Your notes are very thorough and clear," she added, as she skimmed them, "though it seems the class was less than productive."

"Professor Quirrel seemed agitated about something," Hermione confirmed, nodding.

"Again, thank you... but you've done so much for me..."

Hermione's high spirits dropped. The girl was trying to let her down gently, and Hermione was used to polite people doing that. Perhaps it had been too much to hope. A desperate attempt at salvaging this friendship now would probably sour it further, as it had every time she had tried it. She had been called clingy to her face many a time by the people who'd tried being nice to her (most of which had been people seeking to use her to do their homework for them only to find her far too annoying).

"... I don't know how to repay you," admitted Black, smiling once again at Hermione, closing her eyes and seeming thoughtful for a while. "If you ever need anything... I am always available, Hermione. Anything that is within my power..."

"Oh- no," Hermione's thoughts were all confused. Black seemed to... not be trying to get her to go away? That was strange. "Y-You don't need to repay me or anything! Anyone would've helped you!"

Harry shook her head and laughed in amusement. "And most would've immediately sought to ask for a favour of House Black in return, Hermione, yet you did not. Anything you need and I can provide..."

Hermione flushed when Black captured one of her hands with her own left, uninjured hand and used it to pull Hermione closer, enough so that she could whisper into the brunette's ear.

"Anything," she said in a husky whisper that sent shivers down Hermione's spine.

* * *

"You're friends with a mudblood, Black?" asked Malfoy, drawling out the last words as if they were an insult on his very being. He stood a few feet away from the couch where his nemesis and rival, Daphne Greengrass, as well as the most infuriating girl in the world, Harry Black, sat.

"Why Mudblood, Malfoy? It is such an insulting term," chastised Harry as she lounged on a couch in the common room. Several of the older students had shown up to watch the amusing verbal showdown between the first year girls and the first year boys. It would most likely be immature and lacking in wit, but that's what made it funny.

Usually.

This time, though, it was funny due to how outclassed in terms of wit a Malfoy found himself.

"Draco, I'd appreciate it if you didn't bother my friends with your unnecessary remarks," Daphne stated, blandly, from her spot next to Black.

"Oh, defending the mudblood filth, Greengrass? What would your father say?" Daphne herself wasn't keen on defending Hermione. Whether she held prejudice or not was irrelevant in this discussion, however, as she knew better than to risk upsetting Black and having her be an opposition instead of a supporter. Her foothold was too tenuous to risk Black pulling the rug from under her. Her opinions about muggleborns, therefore, had to remain tightly locked down until she could influence Black. Shouldn't be too difficult in the long run, considering Black's circumstances.

Draco's remark had annoyed her, but she could ignore it.

Lilith Moon threw herself over the backrest of the couch, laying her arms on it and her head on her arms, bending her body so that she laid her weight mostly on her arms and shoulders. It wasn't much weight to speak of. "What's up with being friends with a muggleborn, though?" she asked, honestly curious.

"Does it matter where she comes from?" asked Black, blandly, looking up at Lilith. "What separates us from the muggleborns is not our blood, but our family," she explained, looking around herself. "All of us, no matter how pure our blood is, come from a family old enough to have their own grimoire, their own specialty and centuries of research for it. Are we naturally stronger than a muggleborn?" she asked, seeing the upper years looking at her oddly.

Daphne scoffed. "Carefully cultivated magical lines lead us to being more powerful on average than muggleborns," she spoke, lifting an elegant eyebrow as if daring Black to question her.

"Greengrass is right," spoke one of the upper years. Someone named Terrence Higgs, going from how Jordan called him during the Slytherin/Gryffindor game that opened the Quidditch season.

"I suppose there is truth to her words. Powerful wizards and witches are more likely to produce powerful offspring," a sixth year boy spoke, as he sat on another couch.

"What about inbreeding, though?" asked someone.

"Well, that's always a risk. That's why we have to carefully control our lineages. Too close and you wind up having a family like Moon's," said another person.

Lilith flinched, but Harry put a hand on top of the one she had resting close to the messy haired youth's own. "Not your fault, honey," she spoke, smiling kindly at her.

The pale girl nodded, relaxing as Black returned to watching the debate of how close was too close that was going on in front of her. Slytherin always had the most wonderful common room conversations, particularly when the embarrasment of those attracted to people far too close to themselves (such as Marcus Flint's unhealthy interest in his elder sister, which caused him to threaten everyone with his beater bat) was touched upon. Snape eventually came into the room and forced them to go back to sleep.

Harry smiled, widely, as she laid her head on her pillow. It would take time, but she'd force Slytherin to warm up to muggleborns, even if it was exceedingly annoying to do so.

Everything was going according to plan.

* * *

"Longbottom continues to be disappointing, I imagine," Severus Spoke as he sat on the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"Unfortunately, Neville requires a little more coaxing still," Dumbledore said as he shook his head. "I managed to pique his curiosity. The gauntlet of our design should be enough to give him a sense of confidence in himself. It should prove just difficult enough to present a challenge while not enough to truly stump him. I would much prefer if he had gathered truly loyal friends around himself, but I suppose I couldn't expect that much out of boys so young," he said, falling into thought. "The Weasleys are stubbornly loyal to the people they deem worthy, but Ron and Neville don't seem to be on the best of terms so far."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Longbottom needs confidence more than he needs allies for the time being."

"Indeed, he does, but stablishing alliances early never hurt anybody. I just wish he could be a normal child, but he is not the only one to suffer from a less than ideal childhood. I must persist," finished Dumbledore, nodding at Snape.

"You are talking to the Head of Slytherin, headmaster," Snape warned, knowing that Dumbledore knew about the backstories behind most of the boys and girls under his care. Not all of them came from as loving a family as young Draco Malfoy, and in fact, the majority did not.

Dumbledore shook his head, as if clearing the cobwebs from his head. "Is there anything else you wish to discuss with me, Severus?"

"Yes, actually," the younger man spoke, closing his eyes. "It appears I misjudged Miss Black a great deal, and I fear I might have burned any bridges I might have had with her. You have more experience than I in relating to children. How should I proceed?"

Albus laughed. "Truly, it's not a complex art as you seem to think it is. Not in this case, at least. I doubt Miss Black holds a grudge against you. Otherwise, she would not be as polite and accepting of you as she has been. I do believe that you are rather trying on her patience, and if you haven't made her snap yet, then I doubt a simple apology would be unwelcome."

"To you, it might be simple," Snape said, almost growling at the old man. "How do I approach Lily's daughter and tell her I hated her because of her heritage? How do I approach her to apologize about hating her for something she had no control over? I have no doubt she knows the bad blood between me and her father is sourer than many would guess. She seems... oddly understanding of my rage against her and her family but she is cold and unforgiving."

"Come now, I believe she has a sizable circle of friends. She was described as warm and kind. Almost like her mother, Filius and Minerva tell me," said Dumbledore, sounding slightly confused.

"Can she truly be? After what she's been through, how can anyone be like that?" asked Severus. "Her ability to mask the truth is prodigious, I will give her that, but I know too much to think that she truly is the way she portrays herself. Not after all she's been through."

"I feared such a thing," Albus said, confirming that Snape's thoughts were correct, and the headmaster had suspicions about her becoming another Tom. Severus had no doubt she had the potential to become another figure just as terrifying as He Who Must Not Be Named. "But I will trust in my staff, and their ability to prevent her from getting swayed by the dark." A very clear 'this means you' was tacitly given as Albus pulled his half moon spectacles down to look at Snape directly in the eyes. No legilimency brush was needed for Albus to know Snape found himself flattered and afraid of the responsibility he had just been given.

"I shall do my best," and pray that it was enough, Severus silently added.

* * *

"You think you're so much better than anyone, Greengrass! Your grades mean nothing to me! You're riding Black's coattails and aren't any good on your own!" taunted Draco, as he stood back, his arms crossed.

"Oh, Draco, your words cause me immeasurable pain," Daphne countered in an overly melodramatic tone. Snickers were heard all over the common room. "Or at least they would, if your words meant something. You see, Draco, calling someone out on depending on someone else for support doesn't quite work when you yourself depend on your father for everything."

"She's got a point, Malfoy," noted Zabini, from the side, as he read a book.

"So you've got to show her you're better than her," argued Nott, from near Zabini.

Draco had been smirking all the way through the exchange. "And I will do so in a way Black can't save you. I challenge you to a duel, Greengrass! The trophy room, midnight!" he yelled, so the entire common room would hear.

Daphne scoffed. "Why not right here, right now, Malfoy? You want to limit the sight of your humilliation to just yourself and your goons, I take it."

Milicent Bulstrode stepped up to stand next to Daphne, while Crabbe and Goyle jumped to Draco's sides. Seconds later, Tracey Davis stood next to Daphne as well.

Lilith, meanwhile, stood up from her seat and left the common room, clearly on a quest to find the only person she knew would put a stop to this lunacy. One would think she'd go fetch Professor Snape, but she was actually going to fetch the one person in the castle that she knew would act promptly and diligently. She went to fetch Harriet, of course, and eventually found her in the library with Granger, who had pretty much become a common fixture near Black, practically being glued to the younger girl's side when outside the Slytherin common room.

A green eyed monster roared within Lilith. Why Granger? Why a bloody Gryffindor? A muggleborn, even! Lilith might have been a halfblood, but she had pride on her family, much as the name might have been tarnished as of late. To know that she'd been discarded for a muggleborn... it hurt, and fueled a fire that had been growing since being sorted into Slytherin.

"Hermione, you need to relax more," Black stated, as she closed the book she had been holding. A fantasy novel, she claimed, even though it was in the non fiction section, if where she shelved it was anything to go by. The waif-like girl stood up from her chair and walked over to Granger before placing her hands upon the bushy haired witch's shoulders. "You're too tense. If you're tense, your mind is less likely to absorb facts properly. Like I said, you need to relax for your studying to take better hold in that big brain of yours," she sounded amused, as if Granger was a font of comedy gold.

Lilith walked in, breaking the scene and watching with a strange weight in her chest as Granger's face became flushed.

"Lilith, how good to see you outside the common room," Harry spoke, smiling kindly at Lilith. "You look a bit flushed. Perhaps a little fresh air would do both of you some much needed good. Would you mind terribly if we talked as we walk? You seem preoccupied," informed Harry, walking up to Lilith. "Shall we hurry?"

Hermione seemed to interpret this as a dismissal, and after a nod and a gesture from Harry, Granger picked up her books and materials. "Tomorrow, then?" she asked. It seemed as if Granger knew Harry could get called to solve some sort of mess.

"Of course," Harry replied.

Lilith frowned. Didn't Harry wish to spend time with her? Harry was her first friend. The first person not to discriminate against her family. But maybe that had changed, now that she had better friends, more powerful friends that didn't get exhausted from anything more than a few minutes of a brisk walk, who could walk out under the sun without their skin burning and who weren't prone to magical exhaustion from the smallest exhertions. "Why not me? Why her and not me?" she asked herself, perhaps a bit too loudly.

"Why what?" asked a confused Harry.

Emboldened by her jealousy and anger, Lilith clenched her fists and looked at the ground. "You're always spending time with Granger... And since you're out of the common room all the time, we don't hang out anymore since Halloween..."

Harry smiled and placed a hand on each of Lilith's shoulders. "You fear I may replace you with Hermione, don't you?" she asked.

Lilith gave a tiny, shy nod, and Harry giggled.

"Don't be silly," she spoke, removing her left hand from Lilith's right shoulder and using it to cup her chin, tilting her head up so they looked eye to eye. Despite her own shortness, Harry was still half a head taller than the petite even for her age Lilith. "That's not how friendship works. I'm sorry it seems as if I am neglecting you, but I do have to maintain my grades and Hermione is a very good study partner. I did invite you to study with me in several occassions, and you declined," admonished Harry, patting Lilith's head as she did. "Now, I'm sure there's something going on that you either don't want me to miss or you want me to stop," she said, smiling.

"Yes. Draco challenged Daphne to a duel, and Daphne wants to have it right now in the common room... well, that was a few minutes ago... They must be finished preparing," spoke Lilith, urgency creeping into her tone. "We have to hurry! They might hurt each other!"

Harry laughed. "Is that all?" she asked, flippantly. "I don't believe they will hurt each other, but I suppose it would be a rather embarrassing display, and that just won't do."

Lilith rolled her eyes at the Black Heiress' dismissal of the problem a duel between two noble houses represented. She knew Black didn't particularly like Malfoy, but even so, she was pals with Daphne, was she not? What if Draco showed he had prepared for the duel beforehand, instead of acting on impulse? What if he had learned enough to humilliate Daphne?

These questions flew through Lilith's mind up until they entered the common room, to find that there was now a crowd watching a raised platform made of transfigured furniture. It seems a NEWTs transfiguration student had found the entire thing hilarious.

"Oh dear," Harry murmured as she made her way through the crowd, until she saw Daphne and Draco squaring off against each other, wand on hand in both cases.

She wondered, for an instant, how funny it would be to just leave them to duke it out... but squashed all her reluctance as she couldn't allow it to happen. Daphne would be humilliated for her poor performance regardless of whether she won or lost. She was a mere first year student, and did not know any truly impressive magic. Harry herself only knew the few offensive spells she did because her father had been adamant that she learn how to defend herself. It wouldn't do to have Daphne carry the stigma of a rather lackluster performance in a duel.

And she had a great chance of losing.

Draco was son to Lucius Malfoy, one of the most canny and skilled men in the service of the Dark Lord. It wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility for him to teach his son to defend himself if necessary. Daphne had no such distinction behind herself and probably was only capable of a few charms that would be inoffensive, if annoying.

Turning her head to the sides, she spotted Tracey close by. She moved to where the halfblood stood. "Tracey, fetch Snape. I'll buy him time."

Tracey nodded, though she looked disappointed that there would be no watching Malfoy's face be used to wipe the dueling platform, and pushed through the crowd to get out of the common room in search of the Potions Professor.

"Stop this madness," Harry intoned, eyes narrowed and voice cold, as she stepped into the duelling platform. "This is ridiculous!"

"I quite agree, Miss Black," drawled a low, oily sounding voice that sent shivers down everyone's spines, as Severus Snape came in, followed by a sheepish looking Tracey.

It seemed she'd run into him right as he was coming in, which would usually be funny, but Harry just found to be deceptively convenient. He hadn't been there a while ago, had he?

Some would say it was paranoid of her to think Snape might have been following her, but one does not get to be the widely feared 'Miss Black' without being a paranoid bitch.

"A duel between children? What boorish spectacle is any of you expecting?" lectured Snape from his place in the door that led to the hallway beyond Slytherin's corridor in the dungeons. Snape knew that Quirrel hadn't taught them any offensive spells. It just wasn't done in first year. He himself thought the practice stupid, but maybe that was why he was never given the position. "All of you, disperse! Miss Greengrass, Mister Malfoy, both of you will come with me. I assure the both of you that you will be serving detention for the entire week for this foolishness!"

Daphne seemed to deflate as her anger left her and she realized just how big a blunder she had made in not only accepting Malfoy's duel, but in acting so rashly in general. She shouldn't have let her pride get the better of her. She should have remembered she didn't actually know how to duel, but her anger at Malfoy's insults had clouded her reasoning. It was infuriating, and embarrassing, to admit that he could get under her skin so easily.

"Miss Davies, five points to Slytherin for being responsible," spoke the sour professor, glaring at the bunch of idiots that still remained. "What are you waiting for? I believe I ordered you all to leave," he finished, gesturing towards the two idiots on the platform, gesturing for them to follow.

Harry sighed in relief. While this was not an optimal situation by any means, the result was far less damaging than it could have been. Daphne would most likely have lost and taken a humilliating hit to her pride, dignity and most likely her usefulness towards Harry. Even now, she'd likely take a small hit to her reputation, but it was nowhere near as large as it would've been had she lost.

The best would have been to not rise to Malfoy's challenge and merely make fun of him for resorting to the boorish methods of a brute due to his inability to utilize words. Lilith had been most informative in how the confrontation had gotten started.

* * *

Yule had come and gone, and the only presents Harry had gotten had been the same ones she had gifted her friends. What she could obtain and purchase through an owl catalog, as she was not allowed into Hogsmeade to obtain more fitting presents. She had made use of the owl catalog as well as the school owls to get everything she needed, however, and she had managed to deliver chocolates to all of her friends in amounts enough to not be insulting. The exceedingly small pile of gifts on her bed was nothing unexpected.

The fact that almost all of them were simple affairs and all of them were from her Hogwarts friends should not have stung as much as it did, but Harry had to wipe a single tear that managed to sneak down her face before she could steel herself.

Leaving her gifts behind, hidden in her trunk, she set out to celebrate with Lilith, the only one of her friends left behind for the yule time. She seemed glad to spend some time out of the common room, even if she complained it was doing her health no favours to be out in the sun, no matter how much the clouds in the sky stopped it from piercing through at full strength.

It wasn't a bad year, Harry mused. At least she'd had someone to spend the year with this time.

* * *

"Longbottom," Harry said, an apologetic smile on her face, as she picked herself up from the ground, much faster than the boy who was now tangled in a semi transparent, silvery piece of cloth. "I didn't see you there, she added, eyeing the piece of cloth in Neville's hands.

"You couldn't have," the chubby boy spoke. "I'm sorry I ran into you, I was just-"

"In a hurry? In trouble? It matters little, Longbottom," she said, waving off her concerns.

"Actually, it kind of does. Snape saw me, and he's probably gonna give me a lot of detentions, since I was in the restricted section of the library, studying the... more dangerous plants..." he seemed to falter, at the end, and he'd probably messed up a rehearsed response, but Harry didn't much care for it. The Longbottom boy was irritating with his shyness on his best days, and Harry had no desire to spend time with him, but she couldn't alienate the Boy Who Lived, so she had to humor him for the time being.

"I see. Perhaps an abandoned classroom would be enough to hide for the time being?" she asked, as they both wandered into one such room, choosing a door at random, one that had only a large, maybe even overly so, mirror. Harry had merely accompanied Longbottom in an effort to appear friendly, but she was intrigued by the markings etched into the mirror. She hummed to herself, as she ran the words in her head over and over again...

"I show not your face but your heart's desire," spoke Neville, suddenly. "I've been here before," he added.

Harry nodded. "So it's backwards, then. Simple enough," she noted. "What do you see, then, when you look into the mirror?"

"I see my parents and gran. They're... proud of me," his voice choked near the end, as it was clear the image caused powerful feelings to erupt inside him. "W-What do you s-see, Black?"

Said girl smiled. "That is a rather forward question, but I do see a shy boy who could be so much better if he just believed in himself," she stated, her tone showing her clear amusement, as she turned to face Neville, taking the time to wink at him. "I see a boy whose parents could be proud of, if he stopped second guessing and doubting himself."

Neville flushed. "I... I can't... I'm not that good... I'll never be able to be a cool auror like my father, or a strong Hit Wizard like my mother..."

"And who says you can't be, Longbottom? Only you, I assure you," Harry spoke, crossing her arms. "Perhaps you ought to give Neville a chance?"

"T-Thank you, Black," Neville stammered, as he saw the girl take several steps forward. He flushed under her attention. "For your kind words, I mean-"

"Kind words? I merely state the truth. The world believes in you, so why shouldn't you, as well? Everyone can't be wrong, right?" she smiled, and turned around. Her eyes focused directly on the mirror.

"You never did answer what you saw in the mirror," Neville pointed out, as she looked into it with an almost wistful expression before her smile returned in full as she faced him again.

She winked at him, again, and her smile widened. "Who said that what I told you wasn't what I said? Have some faith in yourself, you might be desired by the hearts of more than one girl," she spoke, giggling softly.

Neville went beet red. "Wha- I mean- why-"

Harry moved, almost gliding through the air in Neville's eyes and tilted his face slightly to the side, before placing a peck on his cheek. "Like I said... have a little faith in yourself, you might life has its rewards for those who persevere," she said, almost whispering into his ear, pulling herself back and then leaving the room, leaving him beet red and alone with his wild thoughts and rampant imagination.

* * *

Harry turned and tossed in her sleep that night.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore smiled as he saw Neville Longbottom look into the Mirrror of Erised. He almost used it as if he were visiting his parents' graves to speak to them, given that doing so was impossible for the young boy. A pity he'd soon have to move it. Giving Neville that invisibility cloak had been one of many gambles Albus had made with regards to the boy, of course always with stacked odds in his favor. So far, he had mostly been correct, and he had been steadily building up Neville's confidence and inspiring in him a sense of adventure, trying to get him to seek the path of a hero.

He wondered, however, why Black had lied to him. It was clear to Albus that Black hadn't seen what she had said... but why lift his spirits the way she did? There were many possibilities, and Albus didn't know what to make of it. Black was an enigma wrapped in mysteries, as many things about her were kept secret even to Albus himself, her motivations chief amidst the mysteries that followed her. Snape could only do so much, and the girl, while perfectly civil, was not particularly friendly to the sour man after he had alienated her from him.

He supposed he'd have to give Severus more time in working with her. With some time and luck, perhaps he could worm himself into the position of her mentor, and from there her confidant. She was a preteen girl, she could not possibly remain guarded as well as she was all the time. Eventually, the mask would crack, and Albus would judge her then. Until that moment, he was giving her the benefit of the doubt.

She had obviously meant to avoid answering Neville's question. Was it out of embarrassment, or was her heart's desire something she didn't want known? Albus thought that, had she outright lied, this would be much less of a headache. She had simply chosen not to answer Neville's question, dodging it expertly by preying on Neville's insecurities. Even so, she had done it in a way that had boosted Neville's fragile confidence, even going as far as to fake interest in him of another sort. She couldn't fake it well enough to fool Albus Dumbledore, but she had certainly fooled Neville himself.

Dumbledore had, for a brief moment, considered giving her the invisibility cloak instead of Neville, but that would not have been a very good idea. The cloak belonged to her as her birthright. That much was true. However, Albus just didn't trust her with an artifact of that caliber. Much as he hated to admit it, the girl was not a very trustworthy individual. Too bright, too good an actress and too good a manipulator. Severus had spoken of her as an example of the qualities sought out in Slytherin students.

There had been one other student to match Slytherin's preferred qualities so well, and Albus feared her turn to the dark would be as disastrous as that boy's.

He hoped, fervently, that she would not fall the same way that other boy had, but he had told Minerva he was preparing for the worst, and that was what he intended to do.

* * *

Dumbledore's ofice was full of strange knick knacks that drew the eye and distracted the young students that visited it. That was carefully planned, as it helped put them at ease. He had dealt with children for decades now, and knew the ins and outs of how to make them do pretty much anything he wished them to. The Slytherin students were no different. It didn't matter how much their parents tried to raise them to be players, they were susceptible as any other pawn.

Their parents would only be a problem if they were informed of dsciplinary actions undertaken by Dumbledore, and students didn't wish their parents to know of their misbehavior. All Dumbledore needed was to catch any of his targets doing something they weren't supposed to do, but which everyone did (such as magic in the hallways) because the rule was not oft enforced. They'd attribute him catching them to bad luck, when in truth, he'd been observing and waiting.

That was how he caught Milicent Bulstrode and Tracey Davies as they were busy practicing the levitation charm, and that was how he got them into his office for a chat, under the pretense of disciplinary action.

"Now, I won't take points off or assign detention, because I believe the rule you broke is a silly one," considering that it had been put in place specifically because Dumbledore himself had been so good at transfiguration that he'd taken to practicing by transfigurating the Hallways themselves, he had a personal vendetta against that specific rule, "but I want you two to know that what you did was wrong, and breaking the rules is nothing to be applauded."

It took a few seconds of lecture to make them squirm in their seats, uncomfortable at his gentle rebuking of their actions. He smiled to himself, and proceeded to question them about how their year had been, so far, specifically fishing for information, of any kind, on their relationship with Black. Both gave him glowing reviews of her personality, describing her as kind, helpful and intelligent, thought they also said she seemed uninterested in actually controlling Slytherin house, instead seemingly more interested in watching the fireworks that resulted from watching Daphne and Malfoy clash.  
Dumbledore discreetly made notes of everything he found interesting, including how the dynamics of Slytherin house had shifted over the years, ever since the Slug Club had been disbanded (it had served very well to exemplify the hierarchy within the house, but since Slughorn had gone, Snape hadn't chosen to continue the trend, and these days Slytherin House was much more divided than it had been before, with every year more or less doing their own thing while being vaguely subordinate to the elder years).

"That will be all, thank you for your willingness to entertain a bored old man," he said, as he showed them out and told them that the rule only applied to hallways, and they could do all the magic they wanted within the classrooms. The implication hadn't been particularly subtle, but Dumbledore felt it necessary. They were kids, after all.

Dumbledore was once again forced to simply wait, see, and hope for the best.

* * *

I wrote this fic entirely as an experiment. This was originally gonna be a one shot with a much quicker pace, but I suppose the idea took too deep a root in my brain. Also, it just went on forever.

Before you ask... All questions should be answered by the story itself. I'm looking at something around 14 chapters, two parts to every year, but it might be more or less. THe word count will also range wildly. First year just has too much ground to cover, too much setup to make. The pace should pick up.

I suppose I don't even need to say how big an AU this is. And I'm waiting to hear the people who complain about the 'Golden Trio' not forming around Neville. I admit I've always been mystified by how people think Neville is just like Harry and thus when he is the Boy Who Lived, everything goes the exact same way it went in canon, except Neville is in Harry's place. I've seen him become Gryffindor Seeker in first year (Neville is canonically terrible on a broom and the events that let Harry prove his prowess on a broom are dependant on Neville dropping the remembrall when he hits the ground after showing his own prowess on a broom), save Hermione from the troll (while one could argue a case for this, it requires gleefully ignoring the Butterfly Effect), forming the DA (Harry is canonically talented in Defense Against the Dark Arts and a decent enough teacher, and while Neville eventually becomes a badass, that has less to do with talent at Defense and more with being, well, a badass, and he's also never shown to have any talent at teaching), winning the Tri-Wizard Tournament the exact same way Harry did (up to and including saving Gabrielle) and even _having Hedwig_ and naming her exactly that. So, essentially, they make it so that while the AU means that Harry is not, well, Harry, there is still a Harry in the story.

Which I've always seen as simply lazy. If you're gonna make it an AU where Neville is the Boy Who Lived, then make an AU where Neville is the Boy Who Lived, not where Harry wears Neville's skin. Neville's situation is fundamentally different from Harry's: He has family that actually loves him, demanding though they might be, and he deals considerably worse with pressure than Harry does. I will try to keep Neville in character as much as I can, but his different situation will influence his character, just as much as Harry's influences... uh... hers.

The reason why Harry is so mentally messed up will be given, in time.

I originally was gonna use one chapter per year, but the first chapter was 12 thousand words and there was still quite a bit of ground to cover. The other years will probably be a fair bit shorter, though.

Just so we're safe...

This ain't no happy world.

I just wish I knew somebody who could draw, since I think this story really needs a proper cover. Too bad.


	2. Imperishable

**March of the Black Queen  
**

**Year One, Part Two: Imperishable**

* * *

Summary: The stage is set and the actors are in motion. The conductor smiles and the puppets dance to his tune. A hero shall either taste glory for the first time or sink his teeth into bitter defeat, decided by the hand of the Queen.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was many things, but a reckless moron who rushes into thing, as was the stereotype of his much beloved house, he was not. He would continue to gather as much information and intelligence, planning and re-planning time and time again, before engaging in a chess match against anyone. Albus could not claim to be a chessmaster himself, given that he was used to suffering devastating loses against true masters, but he thought he could play a mean game nonetheless.

And he was not thinking in metaphors, as he really was playing a game of chess at the moment. Indeed, he had heard of young Ron Weasley's passion for the game and had invited him to challenging the Headmaster of the school. Some would wonder why the Headmaster would do such a thing, but he had explained his actions as merely those of a man who wished to encourage the pursuit of something as intellectual as chess, particularly in students as generally lazy as the one he was having a match against.

Dumbledore thought that if he could get Ron to look at his homework the same way he looked at his chess strategies, he could possibly get the boy to go somewhere in life without crashing and burning once he realized that Hogwarts' safety nets and support system would not be there to help him in the outside world and that he didn't have the contacts and influence to make his incompetence meaningless.

Ron needed to make a strategy for his life, and thus Dumbledore had conversed with him using chess metaphors, describing Ron as a pawn and his passage through Hogwarts as him making his way across the board. Of course, he made it a point to toss out several details, such as the notion of getting one of the other pieces to suicide in order to be promoted to that piece and the idea of eating other pawns on his way forward.

But he mostly stuck to the metaphors as their game developed. Dumbledore thought Ron truly was tactically gifted. He looked at the board and, with some humilliation, admitted that he had just been defeated by a boy who was but a tenth of his age.

Ron had to think tactically about his life, and where he was leading it. Some would say he was too young to worry about such things, but Albus thought you had to start them on the right path when young, since it became progressively harder to lead them back to the right side the further they went on the wrong route.

Unbeknownst to Ron, Albus had other motives than just advising Ron on his life's direction.

Indeed, the Headmaster had been fishing for any information Ron Weasley's perspective could provide on Neville Longbottom and Harriet Black, the two students that vexed Dumbledore the most at the moment. Young Neville vexed Dumbledore because he remained weak and fragile despite all efforts made to temper and harden him, and efforts to make him better able to take the pressure and mockery he was bound to suffer from were very little help. Young Harry vexed Dumbledore for entirely different reasons. Indeed, the old headmaster found himself scared of the possibilities that surrounded her. He knew that this girl held unbelievable potential, from her parentage alone. She was just as intelligent as her mother had been, but she had not been an innocent little girl for long, which had turned her into a clever, canny and extremely dangerous young lady.

Dumbledore believed that, if she were to go well and truly dark, this was not a Death Eater he was looking at. No, the same way he had known Tom would not be a follower to anyone, he knew this girl would reach out and attempt to hold the world in her hand. Whether her attempt would be as succesful as Tom's or not would be in the hands of the next generation.

Still, Dumbledore knew that all could be saved and redeemed, if one worked hard enough to achieve it. If they were made to see the light at the end of the dark tunnel, the error of they ways, they could change for the better, and this he believed in with all of his heart. He could not give up on that girl, not when he knew that she had turned into what she was because of him, not when he knew that it had been the mistakes made by Dumbledore that led to the girl becoming the mysterious, enigmatic and persuasive Miss Black in the first place.

Ron had, unknowingly, been interrogated on them throughout the entirety of the game. Perhaps Albus' concentration on this was what ultimately lead to a humilliating defeat, but it was still no excuse.

While his opinions were greatly biased, he held no more bias than Severus Snape, and Albus was beyond taking everything at face value. Albus had dealt with children for several decades and he could look deeper than that. Young Ron believed that Neville was cool enough to be a friend, since even though he was famous he was a pretty normal guy, without being an arrogant twit like other famous people revealed themselves to be. The Weasley boy had been incredibly blunt with his assesment of Neville's abilities, and they came in line with his grades. Meaning, Neville was average at best on mostly everything but Herbology, and that was with Dean, Seamus and Ron himself working in tandem with him. Unsurprisingly, the four boys had problematic areas and thus had stablished a system to help each other when they needed it in exchange for another helping them at a later date.

If one read in between the lines, they had done this in response to one Miss Dunbar's taunting about their less than stellar academic performances, and out of jealousy and anger at one Miss Granger's ability to consistently get great grades.

As for Black... Ron had been ridiculously biased against her simply for the fact that she was a Slytherin, and nothing Albus did or said could change the strong bias that generations of House Rivalry had set in. Ron was a lost cause himself, but Albus was hoping to blunt his prejudice enough that his children would not be. It was a long process, and several families were still resistant to the idea of house unity, and even problematic. Both the Malfoy and Weasley families were in that category when it came to trying to unite the houses against a common threat.

Sometimes, Dumbledore wished he could go back in time and slap himself for ever taking this position in the first place, because he had spent decades trying to undo hundreds of years of rampant stupidity, prejudice and racism. It was, in as few words as possible, frustratingly difficult.

Beyond the bias, Dumbledore could see the general opinion of Gryffindor on Black. Other than Miss Granger, no Gryffindor willingly made contact with a Slytherin, which was the norm. Ron believed Black to be one of Malfoy's cronies by proxy, believing that Mister Malfoy ruled the entirety of the first year of Slytherin unopposed and unobstructed. Albus knew this to not be the case, having interrogated Severus who had gotten the information out of his prefects.

He knew that the first year was split almost right at the middle, though the fact that the girls were a majority had turned the tables in favor of Greengrass' group, which had most of the females while Malfoy's group held most of the males, ignoring those who remained neutral.

The upper years found the polarized situation amusing and most were quite entertained by the firsties' games.

Ron Weasley was, of course, completely unaware of the inner politics of Slytherin house. He was also unaware of Gryffindor's inner politics, or the positions his brothers occupied in them. He was ignorant of how his brother Percy, despite, or perhaps because, of his position as a prefect was an outcast in Gryffindor. He was ignorant of how the Weasley Twins were almost entirely unopposed in Gryffindor.

Ron was utterly and complete ignorant of everything that happened around him in Gryffindor, as were his fellow first years. Slytherin might be the house of the cunning and ambitious, but their house politics were easy and quite simple to follow, perhaps because they were more overt and preoccupied with such things. By contrast, the hierarchy in Gryffindor was much more complex and subtle. It wasn't about who had the most money or influence, being much closer to being ruled by who was the most charismatic and, to put it in the closest terms he could think of, combative.

Gryffindors respected bravery and combat prowess and tended to rally behind the strongest, whether that be strongest in terms of magical power or ability. The Weasley Twins proved they could fight with the best of them through their clever minds, and thus proven that they were worthy leaders to succeed Oliver Wood, who had earned his post of leadership in Gryffindor by showing his Quidditch abilities and knowledge were top notch, having proven himself superior to his rival in Slytherin, Marcus Flint, enough times to be accepted without question even by those older than him.

Albus knew Gryffindor's politics very well. He had to make sure Neville was strong enough to be in a position similar to Wood's by his fourth year, fifth year at the most. Otherwise, he would never be able to rally the support needed to become Albus' successor. The information unknowingly provided by Ron Weasley would help him in this endeavor. Neville had the strength necessary, hidden deep beneath the layer of insecurities that Albus found to be too thick to pierce at this rate.

There were few options to move Neville forward fast enough. He needed to develop confidence as soon as possible, but of the many ways Albus had found, none were without dangers. Well, Albus had been lucky with his gambles so far, and his plans were already in motion and nearing completion.

Neville Longbottom would confront Lord Voldemort before the end of the year. He'd gain confidence from scoring another victory, without knowing it was never his own merits achieving it. Or he would be killed by the possessed Quirrel. Okay, the last one was too big a consequence. Even if Neville was defeated, Albus just had to spin it so that Neville appeared to win yet again, even to Neville himself. That way... that way he could have no bad consequences. And that was the kind of game Albus liked to play the most.

He had other plans, of course, but he had an already active course of action for the moment.

Neville could have a proper rival in Greengrass or Malfoy. Black was out of the question, as she would consistently destroy Neville, and she seemed to be neutral to Neville at the worst. Perhaps he could even encourage a friendship. She had an amazingly positive effect on Neville, even if the boy himself had spoken about his mixed feelings regarding the Black heiress. If she found convenience in having Neville be strong, Albus could subtly support and encourage her efforts. It could even earn himself an alliance with Black. Problem was that if she found a strong and confident Neville to be a hindrance...

Albus was not entirely sure how he could counter Black in a way that didn't absolutely crush his own standing with the Purebloods. Light or Dark, all of them would react adversely to Albus moving against an orphaned little girl, much more so considering this was a powerful, wealthy orphaned little girl.

Incidentally, all these musings had happened as Ron Weasley kicked his old, pasty and wrinkly ass in another game of chess.

* * *

Lilith Moon did not like Hermione Granger. At all. Not out of any prejudice because she was a mudblood or anything of the sort. Lilith might have been technically pureblood (her four grandparents were magical), but she was called 'Halfblood' since the term 'Thinblood', which would be used to describe a situation such as hers, in which pureblood status was rather iffy, had fallen out of use a hundred years prior. She had no grounds to call Hermione out on her muggle blood.

No, Lilith disliked Hermione because Hermione kept stealing Harry's attention, all the damn time, and it was driving her up the wall and ready to pounce like some sort of berserk sloth. The worst part was that Lilith had very little in the way of ability to compete with Hermione. Hermione had better grades, better health and was overall better liked in the school. While Lilith didn't think Harry was one to use her friends in such a way, she knew that Harry was most likely raised as a proper pureblood princess and was thus instinctively going with the relationship that would give her the most to gain.

Even though she had the situation explained and Harry had done her best to assure her that no, Granger was not going to replace her and that nobody could because friendships don't work that way, Lilith was still jealous of the bushy haired mudblood witch. Enough that, even though Lilith didn't usually resort to the term, she used it with Granger, in her mind at least. Harry had actually chastised everyone who used the term in their year rather harshly.

All because it made them look like the villains and bad guys.

Her explanation had been quite simple, actually. "If we're the ones attacking them, if we're the ones giving them just cause for retaliation, then we're the bad guys and they're the good guys defending themselves from the big bad slytherins. When Death Eaters died in battle, there was no investigation on the auror that killed them, because the Death Eaters earned themselves no sympathy with the general populace. If we attack first, we give them grounds for retaliation and thus give them the moral highground. But if we are just minding our business when they attack us, then the third party observer would be on our side."

And she had been contested in her points by several of the upper year boys. In particular, Marcus Flint had made it a point to debunk her theory by saying that Hooch never called fouls against Slytherin and that everyone was predisposed to believe the other party regardless of the circumstances. Flint had actually made very good points about why Slytherin fought fire with fire, Lilith thought, and she reminded herself that she was on Black's side first and foremost before she spoke her agreement with Flint.

"And whose fault do you think that is, Marcus?" Black asked, raising an eyebrow as if in challenge.

"Like usual, Black is correct," Daphne Greengrass interjected, standing appearing through the door. "I do believe that Slytherin set a bad precedent, and thus we are rather mistrusted from the start. I believe that fouls are not called against Slytherin because Hooch sees them as just retaliation. I believe you always get the first punch in, Flint. A preemptive strike earns you no sympathy," spoke Daphne.

Terrence Higgs, Slytherin seeker, rolled his eyes and scoffed. "We strike preemptively because we'd just leave ourselves open if we didn't, little girl. Welcome to Hogwarts, the only thing you can count on is that all three houses will unite against Slytherin at the drop of a hat. We're here because unlike the idiots in the other three houses, we're more than capable enough to keep up with them on our own!" explained passionately the fourth year boy.

"B-But..." Lilith tried to say something, but couldn't think of anything. She was put on the spot, since she realized she had been left alone against orators much more skilled and experienced than herself. Daphne's cool and calm manner had prevailed, as had Black's, and the two higher year boys held the high ground already, but she had no such strength to keep her from buckling under pressure.

"That's just perpetuating the cycle," Daphne spoke, her eyes narrowing just slightly. "And it's just going to get worse. If we keep calling attention onto ourselves as the bad guys in the equation by attacking first, I mean."

"What, do you think that McGonagall will randomly start giving us points and punishing her lions just because we're no longer the ones throwing the first hex?" Flint countered, rolling her eyes. "You're just naive in the extreme, I see," he said.

"Daphne, allow me, please," Harry said, placing a hand on Daphne's forearm, causing her to stop in her place before the retort that was about to tear itself from her throat managed to get out of her. "I don't think insults will get your point across any better, but to each their own, I suppose. You must think beyond yourself, Marcus. Of course this process wouldn't be easy or fast. And there's always the possibility that you won't see it pay dividends in your school career. But we are Slytherins, we don't plan for the short term only, do we?"

"You know, she's got a point," the seventh year boy prefect, if the shiny badge on his robe was anything to go by, stated, shrugging. "I mean, it's totally unfair and all, but you're really not helping this by being a prick."

Lilith scanned her memory for any information on Slytherin's seventh year prefect... Malcolm Hawke, if she was not mistaken. A minor family without much in the way of influence or power, he was a laid back and easy going fellow who was clearly not built to lead, which was why the sixth year Boy prefect and Quidditch Captain Marcus Flint was the almost undisputed leader of Slytherin, conversations about his sister notwithstanding. "It doesn't matter anyway. All you need to know to know things won't change is listen to the firsties in the other houses. To them, we're all 'slimy snakes' or some variation of that, and frankly, I'm tired of everyone letting them get away with calling us that but taking points from us when we call them Gryffindorks or Huffleduffers."

"What, you got nothing for Ravenclaw?" someone asked.

"I couldn't think of a pun for that, okay?" Flint said, rolling his eyes.

"Good old Captain Flint," someone said, laughing.

"Just for that, you're all gonna be training until Astronomy today!"

Lilith blinked. "How is it that these conversations always end like this?" she asked.

Daphne sighed. "Intelligent conversation can only go on for so long before someone makes a stupid remark and everything goes off the rails," she explained. "It's... quite a pity, actually, I enjoy these conversations. They are oft enlightening to viewpoints and facts I hadn't known, or considered, before."

"I quite agree, Daphne," Harry said, nodding.

"At least this time, there was a quite distinctive lack of Malfoy annoying me," Daphne said. "Speaking of that, I haven't seen him, Bulstrode or Tracey. Harry?"

"I don't suppose you know, Lilith?" replied Harry, turning to the girl who seemed embarrassed at the two girls' sudden attention.

"Er... I don't," she said, lamely, mentally chastising herself for failing to be even slightly useful to either Harry or Daphne, considering one was the one she was supporting in her bid for Slytherin's leadership and the other was Daphne's main supporter, this was actually a blow towards her self esteem for more reasons than one. Granger probably would have known., since she always knew everything. Which was probably why Harry always hanged out with her and not Lilith.

"Oh, well, I'm sure they will turn up soon enough. Regardless, I do have homework. Perhaps we could complete it together, hm?" Harry said, throwing Lilith a kind smile.

Daphne shook his head. "I imagine you mean Flitwick's essay?" she asked, getting a nod from Harry. Lilith hadn't done it earlier, so she might as well do it now. "Mine is done. It should be easy, since you don't even need to open the book for this one, it's all about the experiments and results you have with the minor alterations he proposed on the basic color changing charms. Just... don't stray too far from the guidelines he gave. Most won't do anything but some have had... weird results."

"I'll keep that in mind, and will rein in my curiosity for the time being, but... you will have to tell me that story sometime," Harry spoke, amusement clear in her tone.

"Maybe," Daphne conceded, and then left through the hallway that lead to the girls' dorms.

* * *

Hermione Granger was reminded that, no matter how magical, the people who surrounded her were still human.

Why?

Because in one random sunday, she had bore witness to all the human trappings of her fellow witches and their male counterparts the wizards. For one, Weasley had FINALLY managed to overstuff himself and had been suffering from stomach cramps the entire day for it. Apparently, the worse part of the problem he'd eaten himself into was fixed by the school nurse, but she thought the pain might teach him a very important lesson. One would think that there would be no need to teach someone that you need to stop eating when your tummy hurts, but Hermione imagined they never accounted for the stupidity of young boys.

Sometimes, she was glad she was a girl, though that, of course, changed when boys could get away with wearing pants. Stupid double standards annoyed her beyond belief. The castle was drafty at its best.

Not content with just one wizard proving himself human, the grandest and most fabulous of them all, Albus Dumbledore, had gathered some of his friends and gone bowling in the muggle world. And apparently, the man's losing streak against his rival Alastor Moody was legendary. Seeing Dumbledore dressed in a hawaiian shirt and matching shorts, all in clashing colors as per his custom, could only fill her with a profound sense of wrongness, as if there was just something that didn't fit the picture of the kindly old wizard. She had trouble dissociating him from the usual representation of Merlin.

Longbottom had finally managed to injure himself in a way that the nurse couldn't fix immediately. Ironically, that had been the most... magical, for lack of a better term, event she had heard of in the entire day. Apparently a book came to life and bit one of his fingers off, and he had to stay in the infirmary overnight to regrow it with full functionality. Contrary to popular belief, there were more advancements than ever in magical medicine, as that process would've been impossible a mere five years ago.

One of the Slytherin boys, someone named Nott she recalled, had tripped and scrapped his knees. The boy had almost been in tears, and Hermione mused that wizards, with all the conveniences magic afforded them, were most likely completely unused to such basic pains. She imagined mothers made liberal use of cushioning charms to stop their children from getting themselves hurt. She couldn't fault a mother for wanting their baby safe, but if they were so unused to pain that something as simple as Nott's fall could bring him to tears, then she wondered how they could play quidditch of all things.

She had seen people being hit by bludgers. The balls were made of iron! Sure, a direct hit was rare, but she had heard that it's not unusual for particularly unlucky players to die from catching a bludger with their foreheads. She also knew of jinxes and curses that were rather uncomfortable and would probably be incredibly painful... It seemed that, despite their aversion to pain, they were quite fond of inflicting it on each other.

Of course, the mundane problems that plagued that sunday hadn't ceased when Hermione's musings started. A Hufflepuff upper year girl had slapped -bitchslapped, the bubbly girl with ever changing hair had corrected her- one of Ravenclaw's prefects so hared he had actually been turned around! The wizard had been left there cradling his cheek clearly without understanding what it'd been that he had done wrong to cause the girl to slap him like that. Hermione hadn't heard anything else, but she guessed the boy had tried to go too far too fast and gotten his just desserts.

She didn't care enough to pry, having been on her way to the common room of Gryffindor after a particularly disorienting encounter outside the Slytherin common rooms.

To Hermione, Harry Black was a grander than life figure. She had decapitated a troll with a single spell, even if she'd gotten hurt by doing so. She had managed to curb the bullying on Hermione almost entirely, only the truly racist and the truly stupid being the ones to continue taunting Hermione over her blood status, and even then, Harry had taught her that it meant nothing to the people who knew better. Hermione had understood, from Harry's words, that it's not your blood that matters, but your family, and Hermione only had to look to her for confirmation.

As a halfblood, she should have been shunned in Slytherin, and yet she was one of the most powerful and influential figures and Hermione was aware, from conversation between Bulstrode and Davis, that most, if not all, of Greengrass' influence in her own house came from having the heiress of the Blacks backing her up.

Despite her own status as a Muggleborn, Hermione had been accepted by a very influential Harry Black, and had basically earned her sponsorship by proving herself a reliable and useful friend. Were she to be honest, Hermione would say that she knew that, on some level, Black was using her. It didn't take a genius to figure that out, and if there was one thing Hermione Granger prided herself in, was being brighter than the average idiot. She hoped that Black saw potential in her, because she had turned a dreadful stay in school into something that much more tolerable, and for that, Hermione would be ever thankful.

The reason this recent encounter with Black was disconcerting was that she had seen even Harry Black brought down to a human level.

Despite being powerful, influential, rich and what have you, Harriet Potter had caught the common cold, and Hermione had barely held in her laughter at the sight of a runny nose that no potion could fix. Some things, even magic couldn't combat.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore played to win every time. It didn't matter that he was a gracious loser (and Moody a terrible winner), there were things in which Albus would accept nothing short of absolute victory. Okay, he was willing to accept some loses that were inevitable, and pay very steep costs to achieve victory... so long as he was the one who had to pay. He hated every second he forced another to pay for his sins, but these days, as he grew older and his hold on his power slipped little by litte, he found himself relying more and more on others, being less and less capable of solving situations by himself.

He had been too old to truly fight Tom in equal ground, and it had costed him dearly at every turn, as the younger wizard continued to grow ever stronger.

And he was now too old to truly connect with the more problematic children under his care.

He needed a successor, and he would train Neville to take up his mantle. The boy was growing bolder, but the rate at which he did was still too slow. The compulsion charm on utilizing the cloak -a gift Albus still felt bad, as it hadn't been his to give to Neville- had worked wonders, but Neville had only used it for tame pursuits. Tempting him to take arms against his detractors could be a double edged sword. Were he to indulge Neville and allow him to get away with it, Albus would not only lose the respect of a great deal of students, but he'd also be treading a fine line. It would not do for the Boy Who Lived to consider himself above the rules. It set a bad image, and careful public relations management was what truly separated a hero from a villain in the public eye.

Having faith in the masses' judgment ability had brought many an aspiring leader of men before, and Albus wouldn't make the same mistake as them.

Still, the date in which he would prompt Voldemort to action approached. Neville had been stumped on his research on Nicholas Flamel for quite some time, as none of the boys in his year showed academical aptitude. A pity that Miss Granger could not be in Neville's inner circle of friends, truly, as she would've been an invaluable asset, loyal as she showed herself to be, and intelligent as Albus knew her to be. Unfortunately, she had fallen in the clutches of the most Slytherin student in the school since the man himself.

A student on whom Albus had still yet to make a true opinion on. He had discarded prior notions many times concerning the girl. Severus was only mildly helpful. His relationship to the girl was lukewarm at best, suffering from the terrible way the teacher had introduced himself to her. It was clear Black was holding him at arm's length for the time being, though Albus could tell that she would probably eventually seek his potions master's advise.

She was too smart, too crafty and too cunning not to see the value in her Head of House's mind, in his abilities. Severus, bless him for the wretched little heart that had only come into being when he had realized how far he had fallen, had been too used to the manipulations of old men to see the manipulations of a little girl. Perhaps he was now clinging to the image of the friendly, cheerful, kind and innocent little girl that Black held around herself... It didn't matter to Albus.

The girl was an enigma, and not one to dwell on at this moment.

Unless...

He had to rig the game. The only way to truly win is to cheat, and Dumbledore had learned how to cheat very well. One does not survive long as any kind of politician without learning subterfuge well beyond the common man's scope.

Neville, at least right now, was weak, meek, shy and an overall pathetic excuse for a Gryffindor. The boy had the potential to be great, but potential is useless if you don't use it. He could not win in a fair game, if the board was set in equal conditions. Dumbledore had already meant to ensure the boy's victory in his upcoming trial, and had been considering many ways to cheat at this game.

Severus had cautioned him against this tactic, but he hadn't understood the methods Dumbledore had at his reach. He need not force the two together, no, that would only be problematic in the long run. But he could do something better. He could engineer the circumstances to allow the fire to forge their friendship. Neville could not beat the gauntlet, not even with his friends' aid. But Harriet Black had access to superior resources. Harriet Black had access to the most brilliant witch of her year, an upcoming genius if Albus could judge her potential right. Harriet Black had access to the magical combat knowledge her father had imparted on her.

But would she make the right impression upon Neville?

Would she urge him to step up his game and attempt to match her? Or would she intimidate him, make him retreat further into his shell?

For some reason, Black had shown interest in creating a stronger Neville. Had encouraged him.

Perhaps Albus was overthinking the possible consequences, being overly negative. Not a good trait, but a necessary one when you have the lives of so many in your hands. It didn't matter how much of an enigma Harriet Black was, and how little Albus had her pegged. She was, unfortunately, a necessity. If Albus was to rig the game in Neville's favor, then she was his best option.

The few others that Albus had considered had been discarded. Only the upper years would present any appreciable help, and most of them would find Neville to be a nuisance... And Albus couldn't allow that, as it would most likely crush whatever semblance of self esteem Neville had built. Black seemed to understand the value of the Boy Who Lived beyond the obvious... she would do.

Albus Dumbledore was a man who played to win. And in order to win big, you had to risk big. As they say, he who dares, wins, and it was a daring move indeed.

For all of its power, the cloak that hid Neville from prying eyes was ironically nearly useless in Neville's hands. Albus supposed that it would return to its real power were it in the hands of its owner, as Albus had never managed to make the Cloak as useful as it had been in James Potter's hands. To him, it was just a normal, albeit eternal, invisibility cloak and it was clear it held no special connection to Neville, either. It somewhat disheartened Albus that he had studied it, and its other two pieces, so extensively, only to find himself forever distant from the only title he'd actually sought.

At present, the lack of its special properties could only be of aid to Dumbledore. Otherwise, placing the compulsion charms he did on it would've been such a chore, and he was loathe to pull out the wretched stick for something like this.

Neville would seek out Harriet Black's help, and from her response, Albus would write a corresponding scenario. For his sake, for Neville's sake, and for the Wizarding World's sake, he hoped the scenario he wrote would be a favorable one to them all.

* * *

Neville didn't know why he had sought Black in the Library. She scared him and made him feel weird. There was an odd familiarty, as if he should know her, and revulsion, as if he should hate her, but the feelings had become very muted since he'd come to know her. Harry was friendly and always greeted him with a smile. Every once in a while, she even gave him some words of encouragement when he was feeling down after a particularly nasty failure in whatever class he'd had that day.

Somehow, her words were always so much more meaningful than anything the teachers could ever tell him. When she said she saw great potential in him, she meant every word of it. She was crafty and cunning, a snake to the end, and Neville could trust her to be a pragmatic individual, even if he didn't exactly know the definition of pragmatism, he had a general idea. Neville could take solace from the fact that Harry would not lie or mince words when it came to his value.

She had told him, in no uncertain terms, that Neville Longbottom's biggest setback is Neville Longbottom and would always be until he decided to do something about it. Something that proved to himself that he was worth it, that he had the talent and magic to be worthy of his fans, most of which had left him mostly alone after the hype of him attending Hogwarts died down over the holidays. At least that, he was glad about.

Despite all of his research, Neville had come up with zilch about Nicholas Flamel. There was nothing readily apparent, his grandmother had been less than forthcoming with the information he required (she had been upset with him for even asking, probably ranting about how he should've paid more attention to her lessons or some such nonsense) and none of his peers, or the boys he felt comfortable asking, had been able to come up with anything. He thought Granger might know something, the girl was a walking encyclopedia, but the girl very rarely stopped to chat with the Gryffindors, and Neville found her overbearing demeanor slightly intimidating. The oft bossy know-it-all also happened to be the rumored best friend of the heiress to a family as dark as their name, which made her even further intimidating to most of the politically educated students.

So why was it that he felt okay with asking Black directly?

It didn't matter, in the end. She had welcomed him into the table she was sharing with Bulstrode and Moon -and Neville refrained from commenting on the results of inbreeding in both families- and even offered to help him with his studies if he so needed. The unease he felt in her presence, muted though it might be, never left, and Bulstrode did not look kindly upon him. Moon was ignoring him entirely, instead staring at Black with something akin to admiration... it was a sight Neville saw disturbingly often, but rarely not directed at himself. The few times he had seen it directed to someone else, had been when he had shared a photo shoot with Gilderoy Lockhart.

Shaking his head, the Longbottom boy steeled his resolve as much as he could and took a deep breath. "I'm... I'm sorry to be a bother, but... I really do need help... for an extra credit project in potions..." Neville began, knowing his lie was terrible, yet hoping against hope that they bought it.

They hadn't, of course. Bulstrode had even rolled her eyes, but chosen not to comment, while Moon finally decided to acknowledge his presence. The look of pity she sent him, though, he could've done without. Black was certainly too nice to be hanging out with people who were so mean, but he supposed her being nice meant she was willing to make friends with people who others were not. "Now, Lilith, Milicent, there's no need to be rude. Neville is a friend, and if he asks for help, the least we can do is give some to him. All three of us enjoy good grades in potions, do we not? It's just common sense to ask any of us for help in the subject," she said, almost admonishing her friends. It was... an odd sight, almost like an older sibling scolding a younger one. Both of them looked slightly ashamed after, and it really hammered the image in.

Had Harry bought his bullshit?

It was unlikely... yet she hadn't questioned him...

"It's... it's an essay about Nicholas Flamel..." Neville started, feeling his cheeks heat up as his embarrassment caused him to become flushed. "I... err... already searched the library but couldn't find anything..."

"That's interesting," Lilith snarked, "considering he's a famous alchemist."

"He is?" Milicent asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You don't know, Milie?" asked a genuinelly surprised Lilith. "I suppose my education was a bit deeper than most, since I am here pretty much entirely to attempt to entice a husband, and I don't have much to offer other than a working brain, I suppose... but even so..."

"Hm... I do have quite a bit of information on him, but most of it remains at my home, as well as most of the elements that aided my education," Harry said, shaking her head. "Father had other things he'd rather focus on than the education he considered old and obsolete. Grandmother found it very hard to convince him of its usefulness, but even today I am thankful that she managed to get him to at least let her tutor me where she could," said Harry, offering her classmates a dazzling smile. "Lilith, if you would?"

The thinnest of the three girls pouted, behaving like a rather petulant child being assigned chores. Neville guessed that... actually, she probably was a petulant child assigned chores by her 'caretaker'. Huh, it was actually kind of funny.

"Okay, then. I guess I'll give you a brief lecture. There is no Flamel family, just the man himself and his wife. They rose from nothing to prominence by their dedication to the most complicated art that was then taught at Hogwarts, Alchemy, which they used to bridge the gaps between themselves and the witches and wizards that had innate advantages from superior breeding as well as accumulated knowledge..."

Merely seconds into the lecture, Harry had started to fidget in place, managing to draw Neville's attention before he quickly put it back into place, listening to Lilith's tale about the Flamels and how they rose to prominence.

Were he to be honest, he found the two nobodies' tale fascinating. All the odds had been stacked against them, and yet they had grown above and beyond what had been expected of them, even achieving the holy grail of alchemy and producing one of the legendary Philosopher's Stones. The only one confirmed to exist currently, in fact.

Right then, he had what he wanted. His mind, while not the sharpest tool in the shed, was capable of making the connection he needed to. He could have stopped Lilith then, but she was not a bad storyteller and the tale itself was gripping.

Harry frowned. "You will have to excuse me..." she said, standing up from the chair, almost looking like she was in a hurry but not quite.

"Harry- you alright?" Milicent asked, somewhat worried. Neville had heard something about Black having fallen sick some days ago, but it couldn't have been that grave, could it?

"Oh, it's nothing," Harry said, waving Milicent's concerns off. "But I do need to get to the restroom in short order."

Neville blinked. Something that simple? Well, he supposed they had been sitting there for a while.

* * *

Harriet stared at her reflection in the mirror, as she washed her hands. How could the Longbottom boy be so deeply infuriating, she didn't know. How could someone who wielded such power, even if he didn't know how, be such a sniveling coward, such a terrible liar and such a pathetic excuse for a lion? She splashed water in her face, attempting to calm herself down. She had not been lying when she had left his presence for the bathrooms, she had really required their use, but it had still been a convenient excuse to leave his presence.

The Boy Who Lived was just one of the few things that truly threw her mood off. At first, she had dismissed him as a mere annoyance, when she had seen him sitting underneath too large a hat, probably wishing he were invisible so he didn't need to feel every eye in the room on him. Then, she had recalculated his value, and known that there was the potential for this weak and pathetic creature to become something worthy of his ancient and noble name. But it was that knowledge that made him infinitely worse for her. That made tolerating his presence all the more difficult. Greatness was latent in him, she could practically feel it... she could benefit from it.

The cost was high, but nothing she could not bear with. He would develop confidence. He would become stronger. And he would stop provoking her by being scared of his own shadow.

Her efforts would pay off and he would become an invaluable asset with time. She glared at her reflection in the mirror, glared at the green that resembled the dreadful color of the Killing Curse, and resisted the impulse of smashing it to pieces. She took a deep breath, concentrating as much as she could on gaining a hold of her emotions and stamping out any of this foolish, childish behavior.

She hadn't been a child for too long now, didn't know if she'd ever been a child to begin with, and could not become one now. Not when there was so much to do and so little time. She would suffer now so that she wouldn't need to suffer tomorrow. Put the foundations in place, sow the oats, reap them later. She felt her hands unclench, slowly, and grimaced at the sight of blood dropping onto the sink in front of her. She washed her hands thoroughly and inspected them several times, until there wasn't a blemish on her skin.

Then she turned back to her face, raising one of her newly unmarked hands to it and running a finger down her nose. Forcing her face to contort into a smile, she seemingly regained all control of herself once more. Her features mastered, she prepared to endure the rest of the time she had to spend with Longbottom. Perhaps, if she was lucky, Lilith would've finished her lecture and he would leave her alone for the time being. There was only so much she could take, and she was loathe to burn that bridge before she could lead him down it.

Throughout her tantrum, Harry didn't notice the ghost that had poked her head through one of the stalls.

* * *

"Dumbledore's gone, McGonagall won't help us, the older students wouldn't believe us..." Neville explained, almost crashing to his knees as he panted with exhaustion, having run all the way to the entrance of the Slytherin common room, just barely catching his quarry before she entered the place they could not follow her into. "Please, Black, we need your help!"

Behind him, Harry could see an irish boy... Finnegan, if she wasn't wrong. A dark skinned boy... Thomas. And the freckles and red hair were a dead giveaway for a Weasley, these days. She hummed in thought. "... So you say, but I have no idea what you speak about."

And she truly did not. At the very least, however, Neville was not sniveling. And THAT was a huge improvement over the usual, as far as she was concerned. Thomas seemed to step forward. "We think Snape might be trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone hidden in the school!"

Then Finnegan chose to comment. "It's kind of a long story, yeah?" he said, as if that preempted any doubts on her part.

Harry blinked. Was this the truth behind why Neville had wanted to learn about Flamel? It seemed plausible. It was way too stupid to not be true, in her opinion. Neville and Weasley, at the very least, were smart enough to come up with more believable excuses, even if she didn't know the other two's brainpower. Still, she supposed that if they wanted to get her alone to trap her or something, they wouldn't do it when Daphne and Tracey were standing right behind her and Milicent was in process of coming out the Common Room to ask what the commotion was about. "We tried to get past some of the traps, but we couldn't figure out how."

Harry sighed. Neville probably thought she was the smartest person he knew. Harry wasn't sure of the level of acquaintance between Neville and Hermione, but she would've rather they chose to take her along for this adventure. "Can we not find an adult?" Harry asked, looking at the frowns Daphne and Tracey sported.

"Nobody else will help! Just come with us, before Snape gets to the stone!" Weasley snapped.

"Calm down. I doubt time is against us. Apparation to and from Hogwarts is impossible, so whoever this is must come out the same way they went in," Daphne spoke, her voice cold and unforgiving. "If there are traps protecting the stone, I think the path back and forth would be hard to traverse in either direction," she spoke, noticing only latter that she had clearly lost Weasley and Finnegan. She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"So if we just waited behind the door, we could just knock out Snape when he comes out!" Neville said in an excited tone.

"Why do you believe it to be Snape? I know our head of House is... kind of a git, but he's not that bad. I think he just needs a hug," Tracey said, smiling at the thought of someone attempting to hug Severus Snape.

"He's a foul git is why! He's always picking on Neville, and we think he might be working for Voldemort!" Ron explained, glaring at Tracey.

"Perhaps," Harry conceded. "But he is not a bad man. At the very least, you should give him the benefit of doubt."

"That's just because he doesn't pick on you Slytherins," Thomas commented, rolling his eyes. "Look, in the entire school, who else would you suspect?"

Tracey pouted.

Daphne looked somewhat annoyed.

Milicent seemed pensive for a second. "Quirrel," she stated, firmly. This shocked everyone around her, and even Harry, usually calm and composed, turned to face her so fast that there might have been a crack as her bones popped. "Think about it. He showed up this year, unlike Snape who's been working here for, what, seven, eight years now? He's excessively pathetic, with the stuttering problem and jumping at his shadow and all that rot. And he was the one who supposedly saw the Troll that attacked Harry first, but somehow wasn't able to subdue it, even though Harry, a first year, killed it on her own."

Harry suddenly smacked her head. "Of course, you're right," she commented. "I can't believe someone that obvious slipped past my radar so easily. Such an overactor, at times. He would've been less suspicious if he had played down his trauma," she explained, shaking her head.

"I'm starting to see it, too," Tracey said. "He's kind of like those people who overcompensate way too much! And I think I saw him poking around the forbidden corridor a few times," she said.

Daphne sighed. "I told you not to go there. Do you WANT to get expelled?" asked the irritated heiress of Greengrass.

Tracey just stuck her tongue out.

"You're all crazy," Finnegan said, shaking his head.

"Quirrel, seriously?" Thomas agreed.

Weasley frowned. "I dunno..."

"Come on, Ron, the guy's scared of his own shadow. You think he'd face a Cerberus?" asked Thomas, looking dismissive in extreme.

"They're right," Neville said at once.

"See, Ron? Even Neville agre-"

"Not you," Neville cut Finnegan off. "Them," he added, gesturing towards the Slytherin girls. "Gran's always warned me of overly dramatic types like Quirrel. She told me that they usually act that way so that you don't look at what they're really doing. They act in a way that garners attention so that they are less likely suspects."

Finnegan growled. "Whatever, we already lost a lot of time coming to pick up your girlfriend, Longbottom! We need to hurry to stop Snape or Quirrel or whoever it is!"

Neville glared at Finnegan, and Harry fought the urge to praise Neville for suddenly showing spine. She'd do so later. She needed to encourage the boy to stop being pathetic, if he was to become useful. "She's not my girlfriend!" nearly yelled Neville, his cheeks flushed. Harry would have sighed then, but she managed to restrain herself to just shaking her head.

"Then stop talking about her all the damn time," Weasley said, rolling his eyes.

This time it was too much. Harry sighed, and then nodded. "Let us go. I might as well see this through to the end. Are you coming, Daphne, Tracey, Milicent?"

All three nodded, and then the combined group was off, the bickering between the Gryffindors continuing as they ran. This firmly cemented the idea in the Slytherin Girls' heads that stairs suck and that they should do more exercise, because the fact that the boys could run back and forth and only be out of breath told them that physical work shouldn't be neglected.

This run gave Harry some moments to analyze the Gryffindors. Finnegan seemed to be the most jumpy of the lot, probably fighting with himself to display courage in front of his friends. Thomas seemed rather relaxed, probably used to dealing with pressure. Weasley looked as if he wanted to prove himself. Neville seemed oddly resigned, as if he didn't have an option, but didn't want to go through with this. Perhaps... Triumph would do him some good. Then again, this situation was odd.

She also noticed that Neville was carrying a backpack. At least they had some preparation...

Except for Tracey. She was completely okay. Milicent was only a little more winded than the boys, most likely attributable to her larger size. So it was really only Daphne and Harry. But if they were going to adopt exercise then they would force the other two to go along with it too. Slytherins or not, they were still humans and humans love spreading their own misery.

The Forbidden Corridor in the third floor was almost ominous. Empty even of portraits, it was an eerie place for those used to the mystique of Hogwarts. The soft music that played from the room they were heading to didn't help matters, as instead of relaxing it was putting everyone on edge. It was funny the different effects the same melody could have under different circumstances... or it would be if it wasn't affecting Harry herself.

Leaning against a wall in an attempt to let her tired legs rest for a minute, Harry panted as she tried to regain her breath. "Did we have to run all the way here?" she asked, faning herself with her hand.

"Yes."

The chorus had been, unexpected. Daphne and Harry pouted at the fact that everyone was against them.

"Behind this door there's a cerberus, but he falls asleep if you play a little music," Neville explained, frowning.

"And since we can hear music coming from here, we know Quirrel got past this," Milicent stated. "Ideas?"

"We either wait here for Quirrel or we go in," Thomas said, crossing his arm. "I say we," he began, gesturing towards himself and his fellow Gryffindor boys, "go in and you guys wait here."

"No way!" Tracey piped up. "There's no way we're just gonna stay here," spoke the halfblood, blinking and turning to her housemates, "right?" she asked, looking somewhat annoyed that they hadn't immediately backed her up.

"I'm not going in," Daphne said. "If the first trap's a cerberus, the second is probably worse," she said, shaking her head. "I vote we just hide here and wait until Quirrel comes out."

"I still say it's Snape," Finnegan stated, crossly. "I'm with Greengrass in that we should wait here and surprise him, though. I mean, even if we caught up to him, he's a grown wizard, he'd probably defeat us unless we ambush him," he explained.

"You're right..." Neville said, frowning and turning to Harry, who had regained her breath and seemed to be thinking.

Harry was, indeed, deep in thought, but not in any way Neville could fathom at this point. While the others were discussing the merits of rushing in like morons or preparing an ambush like intelligent people, she was thinking about benefits in another area. The thoughts of how convenient that Dumbledore was absent for an extended period of time in an appointment he couldn't just leave was nagging at the back of her head and she had decided to think that through later. For now, though, she was thinking about how she could benefit from this situation.

She didn't need the reputation as a hero, it was not the kind of reputation she wanted at all, even if she could work with it. What this offered as an immense benefit was that it might, just might, serve to finally give Neville some spine. Indeed, if he could be a hero for something he actually did, instead of something that was more likely to be the work of his parents and grandmother, he might live up to the potential that lurked beneath. But it would be risky. She would have to do everything in her hands to make Neville's victory possible, and it would be difficult to do so in a way that Neville didn't know it had been her who facilitated his victory, instead of him earning it in full.

Decisions, decisions...

"Okay, so me, Neville, Dean and Davis are going in!" Ron Weasley, looking serious and not moronic for once, stated. "You guys wait here and stop him if he gets past us!"

"I'm going with you," Harry stated, plainly. "We don't know what's ahead, and unlike all of you, I can actually fight." Her tone and expression both were deadly serious, and it was clear she would brook no argument in this. Even Weasley got the hint, since he shut up and just nodded. They knew very few spells that would be useful in combat, and what they did know, an experienced wizard like Quirrel would counter very easily.

Weasley might know some of his brothers' prank hexes and jinxes, but even that wouldn't be enough to do more than delay Quirrel.

The team that would continue on nodded to each other, and Harry opened the door, revealing a sleeping Cerberus and an opened trap door. "After you, ladies," she said, looking at the Gryffindor boys.

"Wow, Black, I didn't know you had a sense of humor," Thomas stated, grinning.

"She doesn't. She just doesn't think you're manly at all," Milicent spoke.

"I so have a sense of humor!.. it's just not a very good one..." Harry whined, pouting at the large girl.

Everyone laughed at her discomfort, breaking the tension a little. Neville shook a little and slapped his cheeks, as if psyching himself up. "Okay, let's go," he said, and quickly, without looking back, jumped down the trapdoor.

Harry sighed as she saw Thomas, Tracey and Weasley follow him, and she shook her head. "I hope none of them look up," she said, looking at her skirt, before she jumped in after them.

The trapdoor seriously needed a ladder...

... but at least she landed on something soft that let out a loud 'ooph', muffled as it was by the presence of her rear. She wondered how long the drop was, and how she'd somehow managed to land on someone without injuring them. She removed herself from whoever she had landed on and saw the reddened face of Neville Longbottom, who blinked in confusion. That was a little too forward, even for her, but this wasn't the time for him to dwell on the first time he'd come face to face with a girl's underwear. "That never happened," she said, a little crossly.

"Okay..." Neville said, somewhat dazzed, possibly from the hit. He shook his head and took a deep breath.

"Uhm... what is this thing?" Tracey asked, looking around herself as she saw vines moving way too fast for a plant, even a magical plant.

"It's Devil's Snare," Neville said, frowning. "It'll kill you if it catches you, but it detests heat and light..."

"Then should we light a fire?" asked Harry, tilting her head.

"No, light should be enough," Neville said, raising his wand and pointing it at the approaching vines. "Lumos," he said, his voice certain instead of the usual near-stutter that so drove Harry nuts.

His wand lit up and the Devil's Snare that had been approaching his legs began to recede. "A fire would drive it away completely, and we don't want to, just in case Quirrel gets past us," Tracey reasoned, nodding her head. "That's genius, Longbottom!"

Harry wished Neville wouldn't blush like that at every compliment, but as both she and the others cast their own light charms and forced the Devil's Snare to back away, the time for chatter quickly passed and they were off to the next room. In this room, there were dozens upon dozens upon dozens of small flying creatures that were making an incredibly annoying buzzing sound. It was only getting worse as they got excited and began to fly faster. They also saw a few broomsticks leaning against a wall.

When they looked closer, the flying... things were revealed to be key shaped. Or keys entirely. Harry thought that maybe, just maybe, she should be wearing glasses. Her sight was less than perfect, but she couldn't afford imperfections... perhaps she could get away with this one, at least, because subpar sight was really, really annoying.

"I think this one's obvious," Thomas spoke, crossing his arms for a few seconds and thinking. Then he pulled out his wand and aimed it at the lock. "Alohomora!"

However, nothing happened.

Weasley inspected the door handle. "There's probably a hint of which one it is. The handle and lock are both silver, and these are all gold... there's probably one that's silver, that's probably the real one," he said, nodding to himself.

"I noticed," Tracey said, smiling. "There's one with a broken wind. I'm willing to bet Quirrel caught it none too gently," she said, shaking her head. "Which of us is the best flyer?"

The three boys frowned. "I can't fly worth crap," Thomas stated.

"I'm... not all that good," Weasley admitted.

Neville just looked apologetic.

Tracey sighed. "I can't fly well either. Sorry, Harry, but it's up to you."

"She can fly?" asked Ron, looking somewhat surprised. "I don't think I've ever seen her flying in class..."

"I can, yes," Harry said, sighing. "But I would prefer not to, in these circumstances," she admitted, frowning at the buzzing key-snidgets. Then she sighed. "I've got another way through this door..."

"Huh? What way?" asked Thomas.

"Oh, you know some spell that can open this door?" Tracey asked. "The unlocking charm didn't work... You got a more advanced version? Straight from the Black Grimoire?"

"Nothing of the sort," Harry said, shaking her head. "It's more like a battering ram," she admitted, taking a deep breath. "Step aside."

Weasley and Tracey, the two who were closest to the door, did so, leaving her standing in front of the door, which almost mocked them with its imperviousness to unlocking charms.

Harry pulled her wand from one of her robes' pockets.

"Hey... what's up with that wand?" asked Weasley. "It looks nothing like the usual wands Ollivander sells..."

"It's a legacy wand, isn't it?" Tracey asked, to which Harry nodded.

"What's that?" Thomas asked, clearly confused. Of course he'd be. You'd need to be in a traditionalist family to know what a legacy wand even is.

Neville frowned. "It's a wand passed down from your ancestors. Like mine," he said, pulling out his own wand, except this one was clearly an Ollivander, as it looked like a standard stick.

Harry's wand was polished to a shine and as black as her name and it had clearly been reinforced by some white metal that the others didn't recognize. "It's Great Grandfather Arcturus' wand, eleven inches of yew, and unicorn tail hair, reinforced with platinum so it'd look pretty, I imagine," she said, shrugging. "Father didn't want to take me to Diagon Alley to get a wand from Ollivander's, so we went through some of the heirlooms to find one that fit. It's not a perfect match, but it works well enough," she said, shrugging.

"You should probably go to Ollivander and get a better matched wand," Tracey said, shrugging. "Anyway, you were gonna break down a door..."

Harry nodded. She took a deep breath and flicked her wand as if she was slashing the air, "Sectumsempra!" she yelled, and nearly instantly after she had caled the words, a sizable cut had appeared in the middle of the door, almost bisecting it diagonally. Had the cut been complete, only the lower right half would've remained in place, as it was the part that had the lock, while the hinges were on the other side. They could open it that way. Harry took another deep breath and performed the same movements once more, "Sectumsempra!" she yelled once again, and this time, the door was slashed through completely.

She fell to one knee immediately afterwards, though. "Harry!" Tracey yelled, going to support her immediately. "You okay?" she asked, frowning at the sight of the very clearly overtaxed girl.

"That spell is more draining than I thought," she said, taking a few deep breaths. "Whoever enchanted this door made it tougher than the skin of a troll. I could cut through that with just one cast," she said, almost smiling but too tired to do it.

Tracey sighed. "You dumbass! You should've just done like a seeker and caught the key," she admonished, helping Harry stand.

"We'll go on ahead," Weasley stated, confidently. "You should go back," he said, almost smuggly.

Neville looked conflicted, and Thomas didn't seem too enthused after seeing the dark slashing curse.

"Go on ahead, I'll catch my breath and then catch up with you," Harry said, nodding at Tracey.

"Oh, hell no, I'm not leaving you alone here," Tracey said, glaring at her, "and you're not leaving me alone with a bunch of Gryffindors for company, missy!" she declared, leading Harry to a wall they could rest against.

"Let's go," Weasley said, as he opened half the door and vaulted over the half still held in place by the lock. Behind him, Thomas kicked the chunk of door that held the lock and it fell, causing him to jump back. The door did make a lot of noise, but it left the doorway open so they could cross it. The dark skinned boy grinned as he stepped through, and Neville followed.

Harry sighed, and then raised her wand, pointing it at the buzzing key snidgets.

"No way, you've gotta recover," Tracey said, forcefully lowering it.

"But they're so annoying!" Harry pouted.

"Come on, we'll follow them so we don't have to stay here," Tracey said, lifting Harry so she rested mostly on her shoulder. "You should be thankful mom used to force me to go running with her in the mornings," Tracey stated, joking. "And you should probably diet or something, to avoid me throwing my back before I'm eighty," she added.

Harry blinked. "Are you calling me fat, Tracey?" she asked, an air of confusion to her question that almost shocked her ride.

"You know, usually, the reactions to that are a bit more violent," Tracey said, smiling. "Daphne used to be chubby, you know? She drinks potions to maintain her figure, that's why she can't run more than a few steps without getting winded. I'm honestly surprised you've got such low stamina, too," she admitted as she pulled Harry so more of her weight rested on Tracey's shoulders.

"I never did a lot of exercise," Harry said, and she would've shrugged were she not mostly draped over Tracey's shoulders. As they stepped past the ruined door, the sound of buzzing became fainter and fainter, which both were thankful for.

"How're you so thin, then? I know I have to do exercise to work off the weight I eat, but you're thin..." then Tracey stopped, and Harry felt heat pooling in her cheeks when she felt her ride's hands groping blindly at her body. "Okay, you're thin like a twig. I think only Lilith's thinner than you, and she can't eat enough to get fat without puking it back up..."

"I lived alone with a house elf that couldn't cook worth crap for an entire year," Harry said, flatly. "I'd rather starve than eat Kreacher's cooking. I'm used to eating little, so..."

"But you eat normally at dinner..." Tracey said, frowning.

"Have you ever caught me eating lunch or breakfast?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tracey blinked.

"There's your answer. I'm too used to eating little," Harry said.

"Well, you should eat more! If you're cute the way you are now, I think the boys would be trailing after you like lost kneazles if you grew up like you should! And also, that's why you're short," Tracey spoke, nodding to herself.

"I guess I can try to at least eat something during breakfast," Harry said, rolling her eyes. "I think I can walk," she said, dropping from Tracey's shoulders and standing on wobbly feet. Her fellow Slytherin quickly went to offer support, and Harry managed to stabilize herself. "Almost, anyway," she said, sighing. "Come on, let's go... These idiots have probably gotten themselves into some real trouble."

"Well, at least this proves that I was right and boys really are dumber than girls," Tracey said, smiling widely.

Harry laughed. "They're Gryffindors and we're Slytherins. It's an unfair comparison," she chided.

"We're Slytherins, of course it's unfair!" Tracey said, gleeful.

* * *

Ron Weasley hated his own genius, at times. "Come at me, motherfu-" he managed to let out, as the Queen did exactly that and smashed his horse to pieces. He didn't even get a moment to whimper in pain before he hit the ground. He groaned. "Now, Dean!" he shouted at his dark skinned friend, who took three steps forward and left the white King in checkmate.

The King seemed to become offended, but nevertheless he removed his crown, and suddenly, all the pieces became inanimate once again.

"You did it, Ron, that was awesome!" Dean yelled, coming over to him. "You okay?"

Neville came soon, even though he had been left on the other side of the large checkered board that served as the floor. "It didn't hit you with its sceptre, did it?"

"No," Ron said, and he tried to stand. His legs didn't carry his weight, though, and he fell back, whimpering in pain as he did. "I think I got a few nasty bruises coming, though."

"That's gonna be some awkward mommy kisses," Dean spoke, almost laughing.

"Oh, yeah, laugh it up," the offended victim said, frowning at his friends, who did laugh this time.

"Oi, Weasley! Good match!" came a feminine voice as Black and Davis came walking to them, though Black was clearly barely recovered enough to keep pace with Davis. That girl had zero stamina. The curse she had used had been powerful, sure, but it couldn't possibly be THAT draining.

"Indeed," Black added. "I would have stopped the queen from striking you, but I only have enough energy for another Sectumsempra before I pass out, and I thought I should save it for Quirrel," she said, though there was no apologetic tone to her voice. Ron didn't think she wanted to save him at all.

"Anyway... We should move on. Ron, can you walk?" asked Dean, clearly worried for his friend.

"No," Ron said, and he meant it. His legs felt like jello and he realized he might have hit the ground pretty badly, from how much everything hurt. "But you guys should go on without me, I'll sit here and try to trip Quirrel with my body if he tries to escape," he said, grinning.

"I'll stay with you, mate," Dean said, crouching next to him and allowing Ron to use his shoulders for support so he could stand. "Let's get off this board. I don't want to be in range when they reanimate," he said.

The others nodded. "We'll go on forward, then," Davis said, looking at Black. "Maybe you should stay here, though..."

Black shook her head. "I'm okay," she said. "I've got enough to toss some tripping jinxes and one or two nastier ones if it comes to that."

Neville removed the backpack he'd brought with him and pulled out three flasks, all stoppered and all with what was clearly water within. "We nicked these from the potions classroom. In our defense, we thought that Snape was the thief," Neville said. "Drink it, we don't know if he's past this chamber, but it's probably not a good idea to go on thirsty," he said.

Black nodded. "Sounds like a good idea," she said, approvingly.

Ron thought she sounded oddly condescending. But he didn't know what the word 'condescending' means so he had to use the actual definition in his head, but even so, they drank it.

Ron wondered if Neville had remembered to pack his invisibility cloak...

* * *

Neville Longbottom was utterly terrified as they stepped past the room Ron and Dean had been left in. Now he was alone with the two Slytherins, and while he had some degree of trust in Black's combat ability, Davis was a total unknown and he had half an inkling she'd throw him at the wolves if it meant getting away.

The fact that the following room was startlingly empty didn't help the building fear in Neville's heart. They crossed the room, wary and looking everywhere as they did, but there was nothing around them to really prompt them into moving faster, so they crossed at a pace they felt comfortable with. Black was quite tired, so Neville wasn't going to take it too fast, and Davis was content going at any pace.

Finally, they made it through the room, but when Neville went to open the door that would've led them to the next room, it opened on its own, slaming open as Severus Snape came through. "LONGBOTTOM! What are you doing HERE!?" Snape screeched, the usual slow cadence, low volume and threatening tone replaced by what Neville knew to be pure, barely restrained fury. "Of all the stupid little Gryffindors it had to be you, our new and oh so pathetic celebrity!" Snape crowed, as he sneered down at Neville.

Behind him, both Black and Davis were clearly shocked at seeing their head of house. "Professor, what-"

"You're a disgrace to wizards and witches everywhere, Longbottom! Even your parents would be ashamed of you!" sneered Snape, causing Neville to shrink back into himself.

"That's not Professor Snape!" Black stated, glaring at the man who even now seemed solely focused on Neville. "Incendio!" she yelled, and suddenly, Professor Snape was on fire.

And he hadn't made a movement to extinguish it, not even noticing it. Neville blinked. Whatever this was, it wasn't human. It wasn't real. It couldn't harm him. But... why did it look like Snape? "What the hell is this!?" Neville cried, as he took several steps back.

Davis stepped in front of him... and the fiery Snape suddenly twisted and collapsed in on itself, transforming into a really tall man wearing a strange white mask. The man raised a strange sword into the air, making an odd grunting noise as he advanced upon them. "This is a boggart!" she yelled, clearly trying to fight through her fear. Neville could understand being afraid of the large man with the sword, as it was clear his odd outfit was reddened with blood. Though he wondered what a boggart was.

Black frowned. "Killing it would be pointless, then?" she said as they retreated beyond the creature's range, and it collapsed into the door again.

"They live in dark and enclosed places," Tracey reasoned. "Like closets and the like. Ever heard a muggle child complaining about a monster under their bed or in their closet? They're why," she said, sighing. "I don't know how to fight it..."

"If they live in dark and small spaces, then they probably don't like light," Black reasoned, and Neville nodded in agreement.

He doubted Lumos would be of much use, however. That creature was probably quite a bit more resistant to light than the Devil's Snare.

"I guess... So, we go in, wands alight?" asked Davis.

"Unless you've got a better idea," Neville said, finally. Then he pointed his wand forward. "Lumos!" he yelled, and an orb of light floated near the tip of his father's wand. It had been working better for him lately, seemingly growing to accept him, which Neville was quite glad about. He didn't know what prompted the change from how little it favored him at the start of the year, but he welcomed it nonetheless.

"Lumos!" both girls chorused, and they approached the door once more. As the creature came out to greet them in Snape form once more, it screeched and retreated back into the doorframe.

"Okay, we got it trapped, but how do we get it out?" asked Davis, as she held onto the spell.

"I've got an idea!" Neville said, as he pointed his wand upwards, trying to control the Lumos spell's spread, concentrating the light in one place as best as he could. The boggart darted to avoid the light, and then both girls caught on. They began to move in such a way as to scoop the boggart out of the opening it hid itself in, and it was slowly but surely ejected from the door. A dark little figure that was hard to identify in the gloom of the room darted to a distant and poorly lit corner, and the unlikely trio sighed in unison at the end of that ordeal.

The Boggart was a deliberate trap, as the door was basically a very small passage between rooms. There was one door on each side and it was not too different from a closet that opens on both sides and connects a pair of rooms together. They opened the door on the other side and walked in, to find an actually well lit room in which a note rested on a table along with several small bottles.

Behind and in front of them, colored fires appeared in the doorways, blocking exit and advancement.

It was a logic puzzle that took them an embarrassingly long amount of time to decipher, and it involved a lot of conversation until Harry finally managed to pick out which was which, and then they had the bottle for advancement picked out.

"You sure it's this?" Neville asked.

"Positive," Black said, nodding. "Only one of us can go forward..."

Davis then snapped her fingers, as if she'd just figured something out. "Oi, Longbottom, you sure Quirrel is in there?" she asked, frowning.

"Yes. I mean, who else would've gotten past Fluffy? There was also the key with the broken wing... He passed the traps, at least."

"But not this one. Otherwise, the bottle with the potion to advance would be empty, right?" Davis asked. "Maybe he got eaten by the Boggart or something?" she asked, clearly somewhat confused.

Black shook her head and smiled. "Tracey, you're a genius!" she said, nodding at the girl, who blushed in embarrassment at the compliment. "If Quirrel got through, but the potion is full... the bottle probably either refills itself, or you only need a small sip to get through the fire."

Neville blinked. "So... either way, we should all be able to go through," he said, nodding to himself. "That's great. I wasn't looking forward to having one of us facing Quirrel on our own... I've still got one flask filled with water. Let me empty it and we'll test to see if the potion refills itself," he said, removing his backpack from his back once more and taking another flask filled with water. He quickly emptied it and then transferred the potion that was in one of the bottles to it.

Merely seconds later, the potion was refilled in the original bottle. Neville grabbed one of the half empty flasks, emptied it and poured the potion in again, giving them three doses after a few seconds. Using another of the half full glasses, Neville stored one of the ones that contained poison, at Tracey's urging. "You never know when you need a secret weapon..." she mused.

"Wait... I've got an idea. It's probable this might have been the last room, right? So... I brought my invisibility cloak with me..."

Then Black nodded at him. "That's an excellent idea, Neville," she said, smiling. "You should enter behind us with your invisibility cloak on so you can surprise him and knock him out without him ever seeing you!"

Neville smiled at the praise and fished in his backpack, taking the silvery, almost liquid, piece of fabric that he had gotten as a gift for christmas. He wrapped it around himself and then became invisible.

This left Davis and black seemingly alone in the room.

They looked at each other, nodded, and drank them, then walked through the fire.

* * *

Tracey Davis was not a cowardly girl in any way, shape or form. One could say she was even a closet Gryffindor, only being more interested in coming out on top than risking her neck, which led her to Slytherin instead of Gryffindor. She was also a loyal friend to the one person she could honestly consider a friend. Black was using her, of course, but everyone used everyone, and Tracey didn't have a problem with being used so long as she could use her user in turn. Black didn't have a problem with an equivalent exchange. She asked for Tracey's help when needed, and offered her own when Tracey needed it. She had also been the one to introduce Tracey to Milicent Bulstrode, and while she couldn't call the big girl a friend the same way she could call Black, she at least had someone to watch her back.

Milie was just fun and had a great ability to snark when she wasn't being put down herself. Low self esteem problems had almost deprived the big girl of the spirit needed to be a true snarker.

But Black had been the first to offer Tracey a hand in friendship in a mutually beneficial relationship. Daphne had just sought to use Tracey, and that's why Tracey thought that Daphne would never be the queen of Slytherin. Not the true queen, anyway. She couldn't inspire loyalty the way Black could. Harry's name was only a tool, one of the many she had t her disposal, and she used them all with frightening efficiency and effectiveness. Even the calculated risks she took, such as defending muggleborns, were made in such a way as to endear herself to her peers.

Tracey didn't know what Harry might think about muggleborns. She just knew that Harry Black considered the bullying of muggleborns to be counterproductive and that it was against what their status dictated should be their behavior. Tracey had heard her and Daphne discussing it, about how their status as the paragons of society demanded that they behave in an exemplary way, and displaying their opinions so strongly and with such conviction only made the masses side against them.

Even if she was being used, Tracey was content with remaining at Harry's side. It was just too good a place to be in to want to leave.

But this was making her doubt her stance. She couldn't believe she was staring at a face growing out from the back of Quirrel's head... and even worse, that the face she was looking at was that of the unmentionable himself. Fear coursed through her veins when his lisping voice sounded through the room. "Yesss... I can sssee it in you..." it started, forcing Quirrel's body to walk backwards so he could come closer to the two teenaged girls. Quirrel's left arm bent at an uncomfortable angle as Voldemort forced the possessed teacher's limbs to follow his commands.

Tracey knew both she and Harry were frozen in fear, but she couldn't even start to fathom the sheer terror that having Voldemort cup your face while he's sneering above you would bring.

"You can be great, child... you... I can see the greatnessss, lurking beneath the sssurface..." Voldemort spoke, tilting Harry's head up so that her bright green eyes were locked with the bright red of his. "All you have to do isss join me..." he explained. "I will make you great..."

Harry was very obviously terrified, frozen in fear at the legendary Dark Wizard's proximity, and couldn't answer.

"Master! Longbottom is-" Quirrel screeched, wrestling control of his body back and casting a shield spell, blocking a spell Neville had sent his way from behind.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" Harry shrieked, and for a moment, Tracey felt the sheer, unadulterated terror that Harry must have been feeling as the spell affected Quirrel immediately. Unfortunately, Harry's aim had suffered in the face of her terror, and instead of slicing the man's head off, the spell had only managed to hit one of the man's shoulders. His left shoulder. The same arm that had touched Harry had been cut off, and it dropped to the ground instantly, prompting a shriek of pain from Quirrel.

Harry fell on her butt, clearly exhausted in full this time, eyes wide.

"Accio Longbottom!" shrieked Voldemort's voice, high pitched instead of sophisticated, as Neville was sent hurtling in the Defense against the Dark Arts professor's direction. Voldemort seemed to gain more control as he forced the nearly catatonic Quirrel's body to move aside, and Longbottom crashed into Tracey, who groaned in protest.

Lifting his still working arm and making it bend at an unnatural angle, Voldemort aimed Quirrel's wand at the three children. "A ssshame! You could've been greater than this rabble, and now you will die with them! Avada Kedavra!" he yelled, pointing it at Longbottom and Tracey herself, who was scrambling to get the slightly overweight boy off her.

Tracey felt her heart stop for a second as Harry, her best friend, the first person she'd ever seen to actually wound Voldemort so grievously and annoy him so greatly, stepped in front of the curse coming for her.

She grabbed the silvery piece of fabric that Neville had used as an invisibility cloak and threw it in front of herself. The green curse, the same color as Harry's own eyes, struck it...

... and nothing happened.

Well, except Harry collapsing to her knees, panting, as her exhaustion caught up with her.

"What the..." Voldemort was clearly confused at his killing curse having failed to do anything. But he shook his head and took aim again. "If it will not be a quick, painlessss death, then ssso be it!" he lisped. "Fiendfy-"

Neville had thrown a flask that he'd kept in his robes' pockets... and Tracey's eyes widened. Of course, it was the flask of poison!

The Boy Who Lived's aim was true and it struck Voldemort in the face, stopping his spell and making him shriek in pain, as well as taking several steps back until he was leaning against the mirror at the center of the room, still howling as the acidic poison did its work.

Seeing an opportunity, Tracey stood up on shaky legs. "Come on, help me," she said, urging Neville to come with her as she ran towards where Voldemort kept trying to rub the poison off his face with the one hand he had at his disposal. "Let's push him through the mirror, that should be enough to put him down!"

Neville and her both crashed into Voldemort's form, pushing him through the large and intrincately carved frame that kept the mirror in place, and the shards that resulted did a good job of shredding Quirrel's body as it passed. The moment he was through, a bloodied heap of shredded flesh, a vaporous black apparition came from the spot in which Voldemort had been previously, shrieking in agony as it fled upwards, going through the wall with nary a problem.

Tracey knew no more, however, as one of the mirror's shards had caught her in an arm and she collapsed from a combination of pain, shock and blood loss.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore smiled wdely. Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan and Ron Weasley had obtained a massive bonus of points for their services to the school. He was not an unfair man, however. He let the Slytherins stew in their hatred as the Gryffindor points counter rose above theirs, most of them probably thinking it ridiculous and unfair, but then, they would until the official story came out in the press.

Unfortunately for the Gryffindors that began cheering early, Dumbledore was not an unfair man, and thus he gave the points that he felt the Slytherin girls (who had been glaring murderously at him) deserved, causing Slytherin to once again return to the lead. There was no change in the decorations.

As he left the Great Hall to sleep for the last night that the students would remain in the school, Dumbledore absent mindedly patted one of his pockets.

* * *

Harry rubbed her fingers. The tingly feeling that had been in them ever since she had touched Neville's invisibility cloak was still there. When her fingers had wrapped around the piece of fabric, it had felt right in her hands. It had felt... hers. But she didn't understand it. And the feeling in her fingers was intensely annoying. What was that cloak?

If it caused such addiction on even her... how could Neville stand to wear it?

Perhaps she had underestimated him...

Still, she'd have to return to her dreary mansion, to the house in which no one awaited her. Strangely, it hurt once more.

She had promised she wouldn't let it bother her... but she didn't want to be all alone again...

* * *

Whew.

This chapter was UNGODLY annoying to write. Never could get the time to sit down and just write. Maybe it was a bad idea to only do two chapters per year, but I've stuck to that now and I can't change it. Admittedly, I'm skipping over a lot of rather unimportant stuff such as their day to day lives, but... whatever. Point is, I'm done with Year One!

Woot!

I am going to include interludes between years, to keep the summers apart from them. Reason? It's so I can have a shorter 'breather' chapter in between each year, and also so that I don't have to somehow make the important events you need to witness that happen during the summer happen when I should be at the start of the year.

Anyway, some of you might be wondering why there was a boggart in place of the troll that was originally before Snape's test. Well, that's actually simple. In canon, the troll was knocked out. In here, Harry decapitated it. As you might have guessed, they had to settle for something else after that. As you can see, there are a lot of differences between how canon!Harry does things and how Neville does things. In particular, Neville here doesn't triumph entirely due to sheer good luck (how lucky does Harry have to be for Quirrel to attempt to strangle him instead of just killing him with a spell?), comes in way better prepared than canon!Harry did and is overall more cautious.

Tracey also proves her worth! I love pragmatic characters, and Slytherin is supposed to be full of pragmatic people. Plus, what kind of snake doesn't carry some poison if the possibility of doing so presents itself?

(PS: For those calling shenanigans and thinking Neville had a fourth flask that came out of nowhere... the third 'dose' of the potion to walk through the flames is actually still in the original bottle.)


End file.
